Trio Anomie
Sunny Sunday Morning in May
The younger woman with the cute
Corgi out for a mid-morning walk
knows but pretends not to notice
I am twenty feet from her here,
leaning on my patio wall. Not
a “Hi”, a wave, or even a nod.
We deny one another, here,
as long as it's plausible. We
are all the Other it's easier
to ignore than to greet.
Some Other People of Walmart
We eschew the corporate fuckery
of self-checkout and choose
a vestige of human interaction
that is the 20 items or less line.
We clutch our flavorless produce
and small domestic appliances
sold for less than Kroger and Target
and endure the Pidgin English
of a recent legal immigrant in
exchange for actual eyes and speech
and another's hands dropping our stuff
into the next waiting bag
of the plastic bag carousel.
We can at least argue with
a human face if the tally exceeds
our parsimonious expectations.
Saturday Afternoon
When you drink alone,
you drink a lot more
and feel a lot less
of the small euphoria
alcohol is famous for.
The rain comes down
and washes the dust and oily
residue into gutters to contaminate
the streams. The horror
of consciousness never ends.
The younger woman with the cute
Corgi out for a mid-morning walk
knows but pretends not to notice
I am twenty feet from her here,
leaning on my patio wall. Not
a “Hi”, a wave, or even a nod.
We deny one another, here,
as long as it's plausible. We
are all the Other it's easier
to ignore than to greet.
Some Other People of Walmart
We eschew the corporate fuckery
of self-checkout and choose
a vestige of human interaction
that is the 20 items or less line.
We clutch our flavorless produce
and small domestic appliances
sold for less than Kroger and Target
and endure the Pidgin English
of a recent legal immigrant in
exchange for actual eyes and speech
and another's hands dropping our stuff
into the next waiting bag
of the plastic bag carousel.
We can at least argue with
a human face if the tally exceeds
our parsimonious expectations.
Saturday Afternoon
When you drink alone,
you drink a lot more
and feel a lot less
of the small euphoria
alcohol is famous for.
The rain comes down
and washes the dust and oily
residue into gutters to contaminate
the streams. The horror
of consciousness never ends.
All 3--superb!
Thank you, Matt.
"We clutch our flavorless produce"
So true. So funny. And sad. Enjoyed all.
Thank you, Erika.
I really like the depiction of isolation in the first poem and I particularly admire "parsimonious expectations"--the different levels of meaning of those words-- in the second.
And, of course, that "horror of consciousness" line says it all.
Good work.
*
Thank you, Dianne.
Thank you, Jerry.
A killer last line on a Sunday.
Thank you , Larry.
Really like the Walmart poem, Gary. Self-checkout pisses me off. The cynical bastards are selling "convenience" while pocketing the extra profits.
-----
We eschew the corporate fuckery
of self-checkout and choose
a vestige of human interaction
that is the 20 items or less line.
Thank you, Ray.
ALL excellent. Nice work, Gary!
*
Thank you, Bill.
"the small euphoria
alcohol is famous for." My favorite moment of all three poems. *
Thank you, Gita.
*
Thank you, Sam.
* yes
Thank you, Gary.
*, Gary. "Saturday Afternoon" does it for me.
Thank you, David.
***You are so good at this.
Thank you, Nonnie