- we ate out of cans
we let the grass grow
we lived at the end of the street
we wrote earnest and pretentious poetry
we played records late
we painted on the backs of cardboard boxes
we drank on weeknights
we worked low-paying dead end jobs
we shared weed like it was significant
we romanticized the sixties
we were certain Reagan would blow up the world
we did not plan for retirement
Poetry
50 Articles
she remembers the last five seconds
of what she knows of me
forgetting all the high price cheese
that came before
your point is taken
something about not falling into a rut
and I want you to know
I am totally on board with that baby
no one reads your stuff
or the few who do
don’t really get it
the majesty of the past
is a low dollar delusional comfort
that dislocates my attention
while rolling down the street on my bicycle
so that I don’t even notice
the wind in my face
AT LONG LAST from John Hicks on Vimeo.
sometimes I want to flee
the concrete land they made for me
through the weed grown ditch
the overgrown ravine
into a jungle
with mountains on the other side
where men with no uniforms
want to kill me with sticks and stones
sometimes I feel like the glorious history of civilization
could just evaporate
like a puddle on a hot summer day
This is a subject I think about again and again. Girly girl, girl who likes boy stuff or what my mom told me is a tom boy, girl, boy, whatever. I wonder why girls and boys like the stuff they like and if they are happy to be that way. Or is someone telling them what to like and what to be? I like to do so many things so I was thinking what am I? Here is my poem answer.
the day I can’t deliver
let the bookkeeper take me out back
before you were born
the years stretched into the past
it was a world without you
He sat for the longest time staring blankly into the distance. Finally he saw that there was…
I take trash to the street
like shift change