"cafeterias" poems
Here in America,
we improvise morgues
as needed.
in the cafeterias
or by the lockers,
near the ticket booths,
and at the altars.
We divvy up the dead.
Tally them
and report the number
like an answer.
13, 20, 49, 58, 6
Every death count
a timely national shock.
Almost as if
our well-televised
monthly tragedy
was ever anything less
than a game of roulette.
anything less than a matter of time
and time and time again.
Covering them each
with our bed sheets,
we try and stifle it.
Do our best to
staunch the the sights,
the noises,
(“just like chairs falling”)
the names
that keep bleeding out
onto our thoughts
and tongues,
Far too much and
too often
not to choke on.
Here in America,
we’ve learned that
horror is level-headed.
It is debatable.
It is pangless.
It seeps, deep to the core,
perverting with a silent smile.
the steady, feverish dread
weaving itself into the mundane.
the “god help us”
annulled by the
“respectfully disagreed”
the nightmare that lies
always just underneath,
and just out of mind,
Until it insinuates itself
Again and again...
Here, in America
We line the bodies,
death slumped, and
bled out on the pavement.
We arrange them-
Side by side.
Most are missing things-
a hat, a piece of face.
one shoe, a dulled pencil
(fill in C)
phones
buzzing on the ground
lit up with unread messages
(“Please call me”)
They are missing-
an upcoming
7th birthday party,
(Star Wars themed)
They are missing-
their vacations.
their first dates.
their college applications.
job interviews.
kids.
fiancées.
Lined up lifeless,
they are missing
far too many things
to gather.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:14 PM UTC
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand
and ******* holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the *****
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
Berkeley 1955
4.3k
I often get knocked off course.
Stuck in places where I don't want to be.
And no matter how many times this happens I never seem to catch on.
Because these are the places where I tend to find the people who end up meaning so much to me.
I'm glad you got stuck with me.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
“A relationship with knowledge”
It was said in preschool classrooms,
Childish cafeterias and forgotten
Blissfully, on the monkey bars and jungle gyms
It was said to raging delinquents
Preached to a stuffy, shy girl
Busy pushing her glasses too close to her nose
Fidgeting around the corners of the library
It made its way towards teachers
And raucous PTA meetings
Each lobbyist far too adamant;
Ears drooped and beleaguered
A relationship with knowledge
Well
Who is this knowledge?
Does he play nice?
I think I met him, once
He smiled at me, dirtied- on the street
But I can’t really be sure
He seems to be awfully elusive
How silly, to make a relationship
With someone who never seems to show up
But maybe its not his fault
maybe we’ve ruined his fun
Watching us now, elbows dug into text
Bracing like bulls staring down cobbled streets
It seems an awfully aggressive stance
To take with company
It looks as if our teachers lied
We are trying to capture knowledge
Or I wouldn’t be the only one
To sit by the train tracks
Waiting for my friend to come along
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
They ask, "What's the sweetest thing that's happened to you"?
I would have to reply, "It started when I was two".
That is when I, Mother, sister and brother,
went to live with our Grandpa and Grandmother.
They both sacrificed, from that day forward,
working long, hard hours, always undeterred.
To give us a home and happy memories.
It couldn't have been better, for Mom and us three.
Mom worked evenings at the Sears and RoeBuck store.
Grandpa at the publishers, working on the printing floor.
Grandma changed jobs to the school cafeterias,
so when we were home from school, she could be near us.
Grandpa was our dad, in our hearts and minds.
Growing up with two Moms was a terrific time.
Yes, living with our Grandparents was a special world.
I grew up to be a very thankful girl.
What's the sweetest thing that has ever happened?
It started when I was two, and has never slackened.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 3:56 PM UTC
What was likely apple jacks
that resembled arroz con leche
was the primary factor in
an eleven
year
anxiety
attack
the frozen inability to enter
muraled cafeterias
clement j zablocki
you hold torture chambers
"call my mom I am sick"
distract me from my nausea
my mental nausea
I am not ready for this confrontation
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
Kanye West made me think polos were cool. I thought playing rap music while wearing polos would make me into a rapper. And then I turned into a tennis player. Tennis got me out of the hood. Let it be known. I could have went to court, and instead I chose the Tennis Court.
Tennis is fun. Before it was ratchet. Now it is tennis racket. Rapping was fun. Bernie Sanders liked rap. He liked Killer Mike, and he was a phenomenal rapper. Hilary listened to me. So I don’t know what that means. I should have been a rapper, but when I saw a videotape of Arthur Ashe playing tennis for Wimbledon, I felt a yearning grow inside of my gut, and it grew until I raised my hand to my mouth to smother the scream of nostalgia that I was feeling.
I wanted people to like me so I started rapping at cafeterias and bleacher stands. People drank cola and munched on popcorn as I talked about growing up in the hood of Burke. Real **** went down in the Burke. Like **** you wouldn’t believe. And that’s real.
I hung out on a rooftop overlooking the city drowned in sunshine that was sad as the girl who left me. Kanye West saved me from becoming a piece of **** And even if he’s an ******* now, everyone knows he was the greatest with 808’s and Heartbreak. Robocop used to play from the car speakers, as we rolled spliffs in the front seat, the wind pouring into the windows.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 1:52 PM UTC
Dearest Little Snot
While you are a dinosaur princess reigning supreme over the sandbox with your iron fist perfectly chipped glittery pink fingernails
I want to tell you a few things before you saunter off into adulthood…
the day you were born there was the most beautiful messy thunderstorm
the world cried tears of joy upon your arrival
that’s how I know
God does exist
dangling in the innocent sparkles of a child’s glance
speaking
to you
with each beat of your pumping heart
FYI
when life’s pain makes you want to retreat into the arm of the sofa with a lifetime movie and processed frozen sugar
throw that ***** arrows instead of tantrums
and never forget that you can indeed stop celestial bodies from obscuring your view of the sun
never forget that his world ultimately revolves around your shapely hips
don’t forget to taste the world with your heart open
and chew with your mouth shut
and taste everything and I mean everything
and if it tastes bad
try it again later
keep your dreams close to your heart in an ammunition belt strapped across your chest and be a warrior for your sunshine
but don’t worry about it when the sun don’t shine
because your sunshine will illuminate your dreams
and its okay
if
high school sweethearts don’t stay together forever
or
get back together after forever
to rekindle romances conceived in cafeterias or gym school dances when even a chaperone or Daddy can’t tear them apart
and sometimes the spiral notebook dreams of forever lovers and eternal BFFs never quite unfold from the tight origami wide ruled universes they were conceived at
Believe that
and fancy this you little snot
I’m always going to be bigger than you and smarter than you and win at punchbuggynopunchback
But you are greater than the power that created you
so don’t forget that.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
My hands can't make a fist
Like yours.
They tremble
Shaking off the stone
That the colossi painted
Over their slumber parties as kids
The cracks that divide my hands
From freedom.
My dry hands
Are dehydrated
From the lack of love
No moisture
My tears could only be used
To break through
The thoughts of hell
I cannot spare
To shed another.
Don't dare you touch my hands
Look closely
Those blue veins
Are memories
I avoid at school cafeterias
They hide
Under my callous hands
Which work to no goal
Only to dreams
Scattered on the ***** floor
Oh?
Your smile
Seemed to wake up my pores
And prove me wrong
By telling me
It’s going to be okay
Yes Yes
I can make a fist like that
But only if I'm holding your hand
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
Some places always are full
yet still feel like kenopsia
Like hospital cafeterias
always hushed full of dull sounds
Everything feels like its ending
and sickness fills the air
With an uncomfortable quiet
in a place normally considered loud
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
oh expired chicken
you never tasted right
to begin with
shredded and unseasoned
marred by hints of skin
and cartilage
you were too embarrassing to share
and too expensive to discard
oh expired chicken
the aftermath of underestimating how much
is in each pound
and overestimating how much I eat
a shopping mistake made
after being a parasite to school cafeterias
and my mother's cooking
for eight months
oh expired chicken
throwing you away was harder
than cutting off an ex-lover
my heart yearns for what you could have been
(tasty food in my stomach)
even though you were never enough
you would make an indomitable enemy
an atrocious friend
and the worst boyfriend ever
we would have a toxic and trying relationship
but that is for another poem
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
I see you all the time.
I see you in crowded cafeterias and I remember you getting up to get sweet tea
I see you in open fields and I remember memories made at that little camp
I see you on empty concrete curbs like where we sat when we talked that Wednesday night.
I see you when I look at empty beds and I remember how you used to lay on your stomach and glance and smile at me.
I see you in full pews and empty alters and I remember how you were too nervous to walk to the alter.
I see you post pictures alone (without me) and I wonder if they look as empty to you as they make me feel
It's been 159 hours since I last saw you and all I can say is I miss you more than anything.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
She hated being all alone
She searched for true love all over the city
Sometimes in college..
..where she would always find a way to sit next to the handsome guy and she'd dream of a life with him
Sometimes at work..
..where in between her meetings she'd glance at the cute guy and hope that someone like that would come in her life
Sometimes at the train station..
..where she would wait for the train to arrive and hope that one day love too would arrive in her life
Sometimes in parks..
..where she'd witness the magic of nature and hope for a magic in her life
Sometimes in cafeterias..
..where in between sips of coffee she'd write poems about love and hope that some character from her poem would come alive and sweep her off her feet
Sometimes in bars..
..where she'd drink to her loneliness and hope that some prince would come into her life and cure her lonely nights
And yet little did she know..
..that her soulmate was in front of her the entire time..
..he was living next door to her
..they'd meet and talk everyday
..he had a receding hairline
..wore thick glasses
..would stammer in his speech
But he was the nicest person she had ever met
He was always very encouraging and supportive
He understood her like no one else ever did
And whenever she was feeling a bit low
He would always find a way to cheer her up
And so after having tried to find her true love all around
She finally realized that there was one place she hadn't looked
The one place which was truly worth looking
She went up to the guy living next door,gathered some courage and expressed her feelings for him
He had tears in his eyes
He could barely speak
He had always liked her
But was scared to express his feelings
For he was flawed in so many ways
He never ever thought that he'd find someone who would want to be with him
And yet here was the most amazing girl he had ever met..
...who was standing in front of him with her heart in her hand
They sealed their love with a kiss
The birds sang a happy tune
And the heavens rejoiced
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Blood goes round and round
Inside my heart there's a great sound
I am a flower quickly fading
Constantly lost, constantly aching
What does God want from me?
I exist like a stone, a failure to be
Falling from heaven to the ground
With no real thoughts, a devil's playground
I eat alone in cafeterias forgotten
Wearing old clothes, loose cotton
What's left of me is dull pain
A rotting cancer of the brain
I try to walk and exist in truth
And drink pharmaceuticals to sooth
The burning feeling in my body
While I waste away my money
What will tomorrow bring?
Will the birds once again sing?
Will I be able to lift myself?
And find a place in the world's shelf?
Do not enter. Leave this place
And please do not remember my face
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 3:56 AM UTC