Friday, April 8, 2011

"No matter how chaotic it is, wildflowers will still spring up in the middle of nowhere." --Sheryl Crow

Yes, "Alex," my hidden message finder,
that note presumably discovered in a library book
does look familiar.
Here's to renegade marketing ploys
thought up during a barrage of final essays
and executed over the course of several days.

If only I could capture the sneakiness
that came so easily as a senior in college.

Instead of scheming I struggle to type up my paperwork
at least the words with hjkl;yuiopnm,./
I can't even punch in and out;
the stupid machine is prejudiced against left hands.

I discuss finger sprains with Lee,
the white-haired receptionist who at one time in her life
was going to school to be a gym teacher.

I get stuck in Friday downtown traffic
while the 15-year old I'm chauffeuring around
refuses to talk to me, or even to sit in the front seat.
"I don't want to be seen with you. And in case of accidents."

I power struggle with a 14-year old over
what a clean room looks like
how to mop a floor
using appropriate words to express himself.

I eat chips and salsa for fourth meal,
then stay up too late writing poetry.
I fall asleep to Sheryl Crow.

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