"penney" poems
when he was 84, he rarely recalled
the Great War, though he left a finger somewhere
in French soil, and on deep sleep nights,
few and far between, it would call him
a spectral image of gas dead faces
drifting through like sallow clouds
in the charcoal sky
his nephew was the only one left
to fish these green waters, to court the steady
trout that he too saw in his dreams--all the others,
even his own sons, marching in the concrete squares
of the cities, visiting now and then like peddlers
hawking wares he could not understand...
soccer games and mutual funds
gourmet feasts at eateries
with cryptic names
the lake was still the same
the loons chatting, the waves lapping
but without his Helen, the fish he caught
were usually granted reprieve, saved from
his sharp gutting blade, her sizzling skillet,
and without her beside him under her ancient quilts,
the nights were not longer, for grief, he knew,
did not stretch time, but only
made its circle smaller
was a sun sated Saturday
when the nephew had honey do's as good excuses
and the old man was left alone, sitting by a black rotary phone,
waiting for one of his old nine digits to dial the new nine and two ones,
it is what they all would have expected, a cry for help, a long mute ambulance ride, them seeing him helpless with hoses and wires, delaying the funeral pyres, as was the custom in this post teen century
instead, though he felt the anvil on his chest,
and sweat drenched his JC Penney work shirt,
he moved not his feeble fingers to the phone, but his fated feet
to the lake, once only a long a hop from the porch, now a mammoth journey, ten, twelve Sisyphus steps downhill--when he reached the waters edge, the fowl called him casually, their slow song on the currents,
and he sat in the fresh grass, watching the painted blue sky
he saw the fins of those he had set free, hoping
that would count for something
when he curled in fetal repose,
and closed his eyes
by this lonely lake
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
I'm leaving
the city that made me.
This city that smells
like a peach after rain.
It's full of junkies,
no one cares about the homeless
forever camped out, cursing
bankers earning six figure profits
still living with roommates.
Out of it again on the Ha'penney.
Watching the sun rise and wondering
how you could ever
live in a place that isn't
this filthy, this guilty,
this beautiful and pure.
This riddled with history.
With bullet wounded buildings
painting memories of not-quite-war.
Wide streets, tall terraced houses
pale era, ***** all over rural Ireland
yet still feels like home.
And you go and you go and you go.
Music bubbles up through cracks in the road.
I'm looking for a place where my womb
is my own.
I love you like a babby loves an alcoholic mammy.
Dublin, I love you to the bone.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 1:54 PM UTC
(this isn't so much a poem as a tale i feel deserves to be told.)
yesterday i was out shopping for christmas gifts,
and the sweater i was purchasing at j.c. penney was supposedly on sale.
i told the cashier, "excuse me, but can you please check the price on this?
i want to make sure it's not actually 68 bucks like the tag suggests."
and he said yes, of course, and scanned it for me,
and confirmed that it indeed was 24.99 rather than 68 bucks.
i asked if i should scan my card now, and he asked if i had any coupons.
i said no.
was i sure?
i said yes.
not even one on my phone?
i said no.
i asked again if i should scan my card now, and he said to hold on.
he reached into a trash can under the counter, pulling out a used coupon,
and scanned it for me.
for me!
i told him thank you,
thank you, thank you (i don't recall anything else i said),
and he just smiled and told me that my total was 16.99,
and that i deserved it for saying the magic word.
thank you! was all i could say,
and he just continued to smile as i walked away.
i don't believe that the world or people are inherently good,
but some people nevertheless can be good just for the sake of being good.
i usually forget that.
(i'm glad that, for at least one day, i could remember.)
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
.
I can’t take too many more days like today
I never noticed it was National Day of Loneliness on the calendar
No red circle highlighting anything,
but it came and I wasn’t prepared
There were no cards or decorations to celebrate,
no special cake or pies,
not even a sale at Penney’s, (which is odd on any day)
Just a lonely day sitting at my desk,
staring at a screen (I guess my computer knew)
missing you
Oh, there were a few emails, but nothing that filled this need,
this constant need I have for you
So I suppose I will make a note
in my reminder program
so that next year
on April 7th I will know
that I will be lonely
once again
Can’t wait for tomorrow
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
my most treasured memory, next to the day
she said yes, and my back seat got wet,
next to the day junior popped his
little bald head out squealing slithery
from her nether region.
Next to the day she said I do
to me, dressed in that flowered dress
we spent all the money we had
from JC Penney 's bargain bin,
next to the day Junior bagged a Buck
at the age of seven with a cheap bow and arrow
I gave him cause it would not shoot straight,
right there next to Thanksgiving
fifty years later we all gathered round the table
her and junior and me, and
the buck I finally shot
yesterday.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
Soon Sears will be history
J.C. Penney is all but spent.
Even mighty Hudson Bay
Sells their building and pays rent.
Here at Macy's flagship store
Friday was black indeed.
They couldn't process payments
at close to normal speed.
Jeff Bezos is a billionaire.
Brown boxes flood the mail
Clicks beat Bricks is the news at six
Is it lights out for retail?
He started out by selling books;
lost cash on every sale.
Barnes and Noble bled a ghostly white.
His competitors turned tail.
Competition is the rule
All change comes through disruption.
As catalogs give way to clicks
some stores need extreme unction.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC