Moved to Poetry by Poetry Because of Poetry

An Ode to the corner store

Oh Corner Store...how I heart thee
With your 24-hourness and chicken and jojo-scented
Oxygen singing to me like a non-drowny siren

With the promise of neon, ranch dip and
A refrigerated top row of 22 ouncers
You always have what I need
Whether it's duct tape or $1 meat

And for that, I metaphorically embrace you and
Your rowdy, fun-lovin' gangster wannabes
Hanging out by the bus stop like Tupac's Not dead.
Calling everyone a bitch.

The pasty skinny-jeaned buying Pabst (case-style)
Making small talk with other races
Trying to pretend they're not uncomfortable.

You have the specialty chips I need
To make the tuna casserole
'Cause it's comfort food night
As it is when I work late.

Though no sleep occurs
You know you're my Comfort Inn.
The sketch is my crutch

And yes, that last part was a haiku. For you, Corner Store


Bless you, google earth. And thank you as well.

I Don't Have Time For This

I should be cleaning. Apparently, I'm having people over. And then it's 80's Video Dance Attack at Lola's Room. That's right. Break out the leg warmers, it's time to shake your ass to I Think I'm Turning Japanese. Did you know that song came out the year I was born. I know...when I think about that, I have to rock back on my heels and whisper an astounded "son of a bitch". Really, it's what I have to do.

Since my bike has in the "shop", I've been bussing it to work. Though I read it every day, and have since it first appeared on the buses a couple years ago...today is the first day I've ever sat back and realized how odd it is that we have placards of poems on the inside of our buses. Truly...how fucking pretentious is that? They call it Poetry in Motion. I call it lame. All the poems are written by published poets who have obviously sunk low enough to okay such a degradation in order to eat. I get that. It's the last step before selling the body for sex.

Am I being harsh? I just resent it is all. I don't want to read poetry on my way to work. It's always this thoughtful junk about leaves turning in autumn or dreams. I'm already having trouble waking up...this doesn't help. Hey Trimet, you wanna do the bus riders a favor, post some Electric Six lyrics. Maybe some Leonard Cohen. Tenacious D. That shit's poetry.

Now someone's gonna tell me to bring something else to read on the bus. Well I've anticipated you, FOOL! By the time my stop rolls around, there's standing room only. So suck it.

It's not that I have anything against poetry. It's just that I don't like it. Like any worthy narrow minded individual, I don't like what I don't understand. Yes, it's the appropriate emotional response. I feel the same way about modern art. I will stare and stare and stare at it and it never has an effect on me. Not positive, not negative...nothing. Ooooh, I'm feeling the need to make a Neverending Story reference here, but I'll refrain. Because I'm a giver.

Sorry Sarah, this one's not so kid friendly. But that's what you get for not having the White Album memorized. Shame on you.

Shit...I have an hour. AN HOUR!