Expectation for TOP

I wrote this one during Journal Writing in first block this morning. The students had two prompts to choose from: "Remember an afternoon" or "A song you love." I combined the two. But, I don't think I built up expectation very well.
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Riding in the pickup
through the mosaic
of a New Hamsphire
autumn, drowsing
in the butterscotch
of heavy sunshine.

Your husband slips
a Dr. Hook CD
in the player
perking you up
and you both
start singing
to “Freakin’ at
the Freakers’ Ball”
mangling the tune
and lyrics
and laughing.

Then the doctor
bemoans the fact
that he “got stoned
and he missed it”
and you remember
your brother-in-law
who was shot to death

and how he loved that song
because it described
his life so well.
You smile, look
into the sky
of your husband’s eyes
suddenly wet

and reach over
to touch his hand
in the stained-glass
afternoon.

3WW: Blush, Quiver, Tenderness

Blush Quiver Tenderness
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3:43 pm

Twilight
paints blush
on the cheek
of the sky.

I’m home
alone
writing a poem
letting

the tenderness
of the hour
buoy my
deflating spirits

after a day
of shooting
arrows of literature
into the minds

of stubborn students.
Now, I slide
those arrows
back into the quiver

of my heart
where they’ll
sharpen
for another day.

Poetry Train: The Fire of a Poem

The Fire in Your Belly

To light the fire
of a poem,
begin with paper.
I prefer white lined
but plain will do, too.

Then you’ll need
a pen or pencil. My
instrument of choice
is a yellow Bic mechanical
pencil. I twist it
to bring the lead up
just right.

Now that you have
your kindling, you’ll
need something to light
it with. That’s where
your ideas come in handy.
Rub a couple against
each other and watch
the sparks shoot up.

The more thoughts you
throw on it, the higher
the fire. Grab a beer
or a glass of wine, pull
a chair up close
and let the heat
of your words
warm you.

Change for Sunday Scribblings

Not feeling very poetic this week so this is just a news report.
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Today, in Massachusetts
on a warm, sunny day
a young girl
on a yellow
school bus,
changed seats
to sit at the front
where it wasn’t
as bumpy.

The bus driver
did not approve
of this so he
yelled at her,
stopped the bus,
and made her
get off
a mile and a half
from her own home.

Guess who’s looking
for a new job
tonight?

Marketplace for TOP

This is a found poem I got from the IGA flyer that arrived in the mail today.
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Price Break$ in every aisle
(Sure!)
Thanksgiving Baskets
(Never heard of these.)
The Sweetest Pineapple Grown $2.99 ea.
(How do they know it’s the sweetest?)
High in Fiber * Low in Calories
Russet Potatoes
(Guess they’re trying to negate
the bad rep potatoes have gotten
in the last few years.)

Baking Headquarters
Moist Deluxe Cake Mix 10 for $10
(I don’t make 10 cakes in 10 years!)

The Best Meats in Town
(This is the only grocery store in town.)
Frozen Food Favorites
Stouffer’s Select Entrees 2 for $5
(There’s probably more nutrition
in the packaging!)

The Freshest Produce
Get everything you need
to eat healthy
at your local IGA
Eat Smart Convenient
Cooking Vegetables 2 for $5
(Cooking vegetables?)

I bought a few groceries
today and it cost me
$140. The sad thing
is that not one item I wanted
was on sale.

My First Ride on the Poetry Train: It was that kind of night

Wrote this a couple weeks ago during Journal Writing with my students. I turned the topic into the title.
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It Was That Kind of Night

The sky entered
my mouth
like cold beer
and made me shiver.

The moon
was a cocktail onion
in the martini
of the night

and your eyes,
your whiskey eyes
I got drunk
on a shot
of your
eyes.

Scandalous for Sunday Scribblings

Just a light-hearted memory that I'm sure was scandalous to my parents.
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You Hear a Siren

And your heart flip-flops.
You’re going 115 mph
in a Chevy Impala
with your boyfriend.
You’re going parking
after a school dance.

Your best friends
are in the car behind you
and that’s why you are flying.
Put two guys together
in their parents’ cars
and they just have to race.

You’re sitting up close
next to your boyfriend
and you don’t bother to move
over when he slows to a stop
and the cop swaggers
up to the window.

What the hell. You’re in trouble
anyway.

And thus began the ending
of that relationship:
with a siren
and an idiot.