Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

              Stopping by Literary Criticism on a Snowy Evening

                      From an idea by a happy bumblebee

Whose Deconstructionist Narrative this is I think I know
Their (because we mustn’t say “her” or “his”)
New Criticism is on their podcast, though
They will not see me applying Phenomenology here
To help fill up their woods with Neo-Post-Colonialist blow

My little solar car must think it other-gendered
To pause while I Conceptualize without a Starbuck’s near
Between Foucault and Derrida here
Next to the Sapir-Whorf Theory, and without a beer

They give their location transponder a Derrida shake
To demand a formal apology for this cultural mistake
The only other sound’s the Existential creep
Of Masonic Catholic **** Zionism on the take

Judgmental stereotypes are flying, shallow and cheap
But I have an Inner Reality to keep
And an Intertextual Analysis of Post-Structuralism to steep
And an Aesthetic Objectification of Dialectics to steep

My body guard
My lover
My husband
And other
My soulmate
My love
You’re a gift from God above!

He’s a pagan
He’s a wizard
He’s my star
He makes me feel good
He’s my rock
He’s my world
He’s my everything

Giving up
On something important
When do I say when?
Maybe it should have been long ago
But here I still am
Trying as hard as I can
Maybe it’s pitiful
I know I’m a fool
But there is no universal
Giving up rule
I don’t know if I should quit
But you do

As a child, the backyard was
my sanctuary and my
playground.
I climbed the soft
pine tree and crawled to
the top of the garage.
I stood and gazed at all the
houses and streets.
I felt rich.

My mom had a brown
jewelry box shaped like
a treasure chest.
It reminded me of
pirates and adventure.
I filled it with
football cards
gum
candy bars
family pictures, and a few
coins.

I found a small shovel
and buried it in the
backyard close to the
pine tree.
I pretended to forget
where it was.
A week or so later, I
suggested to my best friend,
Wally, that we should
search my yard for buried treasure.

Of course, we found it.
I acted surprised.
We celebrated.
All these years later,
I realize that my treasure,
then and now, is imagination.
I'm a wealthy man.

Porcelain
Of least resistance
Original copy

You maybe the one exception

To the rule
Like an IV drip
You feel me with jubilation

I’d lock you

Up in parentheses
Highlight your name
Because you mean that much

Echoes of an angel

What a monumental greeting
Holding on
To the present moments

Your significant impact helps

Carry me onward
A chance encounter
The odds of

Us meeting one in a million

I would have never guessed
Green light driving
Within the lines an even parallel

Full speed ahead

If this is just the appetizer
Well I can’t
Wait for the main course

Fortuitous darling

You mesmerize my dullness
Shine like a diamond
Your light on me in my dimmest form

With arms wide open
I might just be falling into your haze