that say "You may not write the sweetness of sharing a breakfast platter with Samuel at Burger King; black against the turquoise-blue
There are no poetry rule books
imitation formica table with
dried up gum pressed
furtively on its underside."
Listen as Stevie Wonder sings
muzak that "sounds hip hoppish"
says the nine-and-a-half year old
happily devouring conveyer belt pancakes
while Mommy writes it all down
She carefully documents the
circles of compressed potatoes
masquerading as Hashed Browns
The dried up bisquit and peppery
sausage patty soon-to-be made
into a Sam-of-a-kind sandwhich
"Numero Ocho" from the
counter microphone
A pregnant teen's belly
reminds me of Bethlehem
here in Bakersfield when on
Christmas Eve morning I am grateful
there is no poetry rules book that says
"You can't write that."
Follow me on Twitter: @juliejordanscot
I LOVE this poem. I love the thought, the picture of you and Sam together and separate. Sam in his "Samness",creating with his food... you in your "Julieness", creating with you pen.
Posted by: Susan | December 26, 2010 at 05:57 AM