The Next Fifty Days

The Next Fifty Days

Over the course of the next fifty days I will be working on a new chapbook. Initially, I’d planned on relaunching my first chapbook. My thoughts are leaning towards an entirely different approach now. The chapbook will not be a relaunch. I will focus on writing a new chapbook.

The chapbook will contain:

—poems published by other journals -poems whose rights have returned to me.

—poems which I call “people’s favorites “- poems not published but enjoyed at a variety of public poetry events as well as liked in my website/blog.

—new poems newly written and material already written but never shared

Finally, I may add a personal essay or two. Wish me well as I embark upon this journey. I will post updates periodically.

Lamentation for A House Divided

Lamentation for A House Divided

-after Lincoln’s second inaugural address

a candidate Lincoln gained his fame
by saying a house divided cannot stand.
a Senator Sumner gained a cruel beating
by indignant outrage wielding a viscous cane.

tempers boiled —the steam rose
the earth quaked, stars faded, sunspots flared.
rage assembled, our Rubicon awaited our arrival.
our valleys sank low with depression, with angst our cities swelled.

alea iacta est, our Rubicon welcomed us
the die cast, we crossed over.
remember, Lincoln warned us of our houses being divided.
only a few listened to him only a few bothered…

“and the war came”

Afternoon Lunches at O’Hare

Part VI – Afternoon Lunches at O’Hare

From the Business Travel Log

The cavernous passageway between concourses L and H is vibrant with the movement of people. Business travelers, tourists, airport workers, TSAs, security officers and more flow in both directions. A few talk excitedly as they walk, others walk with earbuds plugged into their ears and some are like zombies, blanked faced, slowly trudging along, staring straight ahead.

I look out the tall, wide windows. Baggage trucks dart around airplanes and food trucks are raised up to aircraft loading doors by heavy duty cranes. Far away at the edge of the horizon, the silhouette of Chicago’s skyline stands tall.

I enjoy afternoon lunches at O’Hare. I remember the time I had meatloaf here in the same spot facing the same passageway and the same tall windows. That restaurant is gone. Another has taken its place and they do not serve meatloaf.

I was quite tired then and I’m quite tired now. Back then I wrote a poem titled “Meatloaf at the Airport.” Right now I’m writing this blog post. History does repeat itself, I think.

“May I have my check please?”

“Thanks for stopping by”, says my server 3 minutes later.

He leaves the check on my table. One sausage dog and a sparkling water for a total of $15.32 reads the long slip of paper.

“I’ll be right back”, he says taking my credIt card as he dashed to the register.

I leave the signed slip along with a tip on the table, grab my bags and I head towards my gate. The dog was good but I miss my meatloaf. I reminisce about the last time I ate here:

MEATLOAF AT THE AIRPORT

I’m eating a late lunch at an airport,

at a restaurant named after a notable, 

noted, well known chef

who deserves redundant adjectives

for the food is just that good.

Maybe it’s not the healthiest choice,

turkey meatloaf wrapped

in a thin slice of bacon,

mashed potatoes smothered

in a layer of light brown, turkey flavored gravy.

 

The meat loaf looked like it was gently placed

by gentle hands on top of the potatoes 

while thin cut, brown coat onion rings

were sprinkled over the layered stack, 

topped with one last spoon of gravy,

just a dripping from top to bottom.

I have prime seating, facing main concourses,

two in the afternoon, prime space,

prime time, prime people watching,

truly, it does take all kinds to make a world.

I peer at the large windows, 

gazing outside, I see several planes

parked at several gates and I think:

it’s gonna be a long ride.

#travellogforatravelblog

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