Small Towns

The numbered entries are my continuing "list" of things I'm thankful for in America. Since it's National Poetry Month every entry this month is a poem.

15. Small Towns

To say, “City folk just don’t understand,”

Is to make vast assumptions:

“Probably won’t like it,” “Too close to land,”

“Don’t know how to do an honest day’s work.”

But people from small towns do enjoy friends;

Take care of their neighbors like family;

Like shared meals at community events;

Volunteer for the rural E.M.T.’s.

People from small towns enjoy a brisk walk.

They see stars and know all the planets,

About the phases of the moon they talk

And of crackling fires or of a cold snap.

It’s not a hobby to know the flora

And fauna of where they live, a glimpse from

Audubon, no, but true knowledge of a

Way of life from birds, and deer, bears and all.

Many people probably understand

And some quietly deride from envy.

But it’s a choice not someone’s countermand,

Nor a contest to see who is better.

Picking up the hard white chalk

Picking up the hard white chalk

against the crashing background noise

as if water were pounding against rocks,

I am reminded of you.

Awkward laughter escapes us both

as we chase the waves,

shoes thrown aside,

pant legs rolled up to the knees.

Words escape me

as the waves engulf our laughter

and my protagonist lecture

drowns somewhere between

the chalkboard surf

and our escape from your mother’s

ten minute stop.

I skip the white object

across the green waves

of the chalkboard

and the questions of childhood

disappear into the sea

of humanity that sprawls itself

in desks before me.

You disappeared between the pebbles

of the Devon shore

and the bells that control

the classroom waves,

leaving me to scrawl

dusty questions to stares

as vacant as

mine.

McCall Brewing Company

14. McCall Brewing Company

McCall Brewing Company ‘bove the shores

Of Payette Lake is a place to get good

Beer and a hearty plate of scrumptious food.

It’s clean, has a homey feel to adore.

Your friends can come and share a stout and more.

It has those walls of dark paneled barn wood

And maps on tables of places you should

Take those friends on hikes to where eagles soar.

Have another ale ‘fore you hit the trail:

Dark brown porter, a golden wheat lager,

Doesn’t matter what you order, just drink

To your delight (not to the point of fight).

Then go out on your hike, carry that growler

As up hills you walk, the courage you drink

Must have come from that IPA. ‘M I right? 

Hernia Surgery

In honor of National Poetry Month I'm going to post poetry entries for this month. Here are my thoughts on running and my situation right now:

Hernia Hiatus

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run

Makes me love life, the chance to be, to grow

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

How can life be lived on hold? Suspension

Between stop and go? Slush, not rain or snow?

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run…

Our lives should be fluid, stopped for not a one,

Cups overflowing, bubbling down the road.

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

Guts bulging out, pushed back in. Oh so dum.

Better to go under the knife to go

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run.

Can’t lift twenty pounds now that I’ve begun.

In to work each day I have to go

But hernia hiatus is no fun.

So now I will take a quick shot of numb

To keep pain from my gut stitch even so.

Staying in shape to move, to jump, to run?

This hernia hiatus is no fun.