"pepsis" poems
I imagine sitting on a porch somewhere humid and calm,
a tall tree, full of hand fruits, providing shade to foot traffic.
In this imagining, the lemonade is almost too sweet but doesn't stick to the table when it dries, and the mesh lining of the patio denies mosquitos all entry.
Their buzzing is drowned by the sound of ice being crushed three or four times with margarita mix and my favorite sin. Here, life has halted so dearly in a way I've always wanted, and in this, there is peace.
My parents would have kept a container of peanuts nearby to have with their Pepsis for days like this--
days where sound and warmth and humidity mingle, and fanning yourself with an old church pamphlet was better than being
bored, comfortable, and air-conditioned.
Apr 15, 2023
Apr 15, 2023 at 12:04 AM UTC
Big And What Else Is In America
I’ve seen big people in little places
all over the U.S. I have seen people
break little laws and end up in
the headlines. I’ve watched old folks
do young things. Fat do thin stuff.
You have never asked me why
I see such things. You have sat
in your soft chair thinking it was hard.
Leaders do little things and end up
on the TV. Cokes look like Pepsis
to no one. Spaghetti is really linguine.
Bosses beg to want anyone to know
they do everything. Words become
less syllabic the more you say them.
I have seen yellow look awful
light brownish. I saw a pineapple
that seemed like a stone. The President
became a wanton chief. Casual oinks
became loud moos. One time, not long
ago, I viewed my wife as a lady who
wanted all my money, had it, and did
nothing except wait and wait until
all my relatives died, and then, spent
it on purses at a mall nearby the estate.
Daniel Gallik
[email protected]
www.dangallik.com
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC