bane of my existence.
but.
i offer here
another piece for your advice/critique.
even though
you haven't been giving me much critique ;)
and don't worry.
this piece isn't about suicide.
********
Bargains
"It's all ok. Trust me." He smiles before
we step into "SuperDepartmentStore--
Low Prices!" Brainwashed bargain zombies shove
against around between. Their odors mix
with plastic/vinyl shoes and cheap perfumes
that profer low-grade numbing headaches, while
seeming necessities (at falling prices) spill
into the narrow aisles: the toothbrush that
I know you needed, even though you don't,
the dish soap I'm not out of yet. "Ok?"
he asks. My mind is blank. I nod and look
at cards we didn't come to buy. He pulls
my arm. "Come over here and look at these."
He holds up shoes. Red shoes. The kind he knows
I've always wanted. "Let's get these." I freeze.
And fight to say, "I can't afford new shoes."
He cuts me off. "Let's make a deal. I'll buy
the shoes, the red shoes that you like. IF
you'll write about them for me." I'm game.
Headache's gone. The zombies smile. The prices soar.
i like a lot. i didn't know that was the deal to get the red shoes.
but hey, i like the creativity.
keep it up
Posted by: fae at February 18, 2004 10:59 PMeven though my honors English teacher would be upset at me, i must admit i'm nowhere near qualified to do much commenting, let alone critiquing, on creative genius. it feels kind of like...being a big troll who's walking through unbroken snow and trying not to leave any footprints.
i love the description--i can feel the headache just reading it. we grew up on Goodwill and Salvation Army, and while you can find good clothes for cheap, I always hated the smell. Yuck.
i don't always get why the lines end where they do, but that's probably because i don't know any better. :-)
Posted by: apelles at February 19, 2004 02:26 PMNON-blank verse reply....
what it means to be game
what it means to walk straight
what it means to know how to walk
at all that it means to be game
if you wake up at kmart on friday
does the scent disappear by your bed?
if you write on the park bench at evenings
do the aspens still hear what you said?
if he bent down and traced all your sorrows
all your crooked steps into the ground
if he knew all the games that you'd forfeit
would he still turn your lost into found?
and one day there will be a wedding
and one day the games will be done
and one day the red shoes will both turn to dust
and one day your walk will be run
keep on carving the days, ubertati
keep on walking the straight-narrow dare
keep remembering the future he fought for
he remembers that day in the square
Please note: Comments will not appear immediately. Your comment will appear upon approval by the blog's editor. We had to implement this to decrease the amount of spam that our site receives. Please forgive the inconvenience. We are looking into other, friendlier options.