Unknown

They decided that instead of a half-way house

Grandma could have me.

I woke up this morning under her NASCAR blanket. 

No clock in the wood paneled basement,

but I know it's 7. 

You don't break a year of routine 

in one day. 

She shows me where the Cinnamon Toast Crunch is kept.

I find the bowl myself, and she finds for me the soy milk.

As long as I know she is watching, 

I find ways to avoid pouring the Silk into my bowl.

When she leaves to hang the laundry, 

I put the carton back in the refridge,

and begin picking cinnamon squares out of the bowl

to eat dry.

I cancel my plans for a shower and make a mental note

to avoid the bathroom,

where her lipsticks, shadows, lotions, and creams

sit around the sink, staring me down.

Staring at me as I beg my bladder

to empty itself faster, so that we can escape our audience.

"Hardly anything there!" "I'll bet 

he's never been with a woman." "No, it's not much

to look at,"

the bottles of body lotion giggle. 

I hurry with the button, the fly,

concealing my small manhood

in shame.  

I've dressed and awkwardly situated myself in the blue Lazy Boy

by the time that Grandma comes back inside. 

She looks at her reflection in the microwave,
guiding the fake blonde curls back into their place,

before acknowledging me.
I wonder if I should say something.

Then she grabs the car keys off a hook on the wall
and raises her penciled in eyebrows at me,.
The blue shadow sparkles in contrast to her dull eyes. 

"Groceries," she informs me. 

Trailing Grandma in her grey sweat pants, I walk through the automatic doors

and am reintroduced into the world,

passing shoppers each on their own individual missions.

Produce, canned fruits, sauces, noodles, and crackers fill the cart.

As she waits for the apron and hair net 

to bag her quarter pound of chipped smoked ham,

I survey the selection of bread,
lagging behind the cart and the meat conversation.
A head of red, ears pierced with peace signs

brushes against my arm.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there, sorry."

My mouth produces these words and multiple variations on them rapidly.

I hold my hands up and then smile to show my sincerity,

probably a little over the top for bumping shoulders 

at the grocery store,

but I'm happy to be out and even happier to see people,

going about their usual business,

unaware of who I am 

or who I was.

Size Media

From the back of a studio theater,

a camera pans in over an audience of women,

It starts from the left 

and sweeps over colorful silky 

product infused hair

to the stage,

where a plush armchair and matching love seat

sit, facing each other.

The panning is accompanied by the sound of applause

and the whooping of the audience women

as the host makes her way out onto the stage,

looking infinitely more attractive

than any other woman selected 

to be in the audience. 

The camera singles in on her,

and she introduces the show

with zest that takes the form of smiles

and rehearsed laughter.

The women in the audience burst in 

with applause at the appropriate points of excitement.

"So Shelby, you're here with us today

to tell us about how you turned your life around.

Two years ago,

you said to yourself --

Something's gotta give. 

Why don't you tell us about it."

"Well Kate, 

two years ago, 

I weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds.

I was embarrassed and uncomfortable in my body,

*a picture of Shelby in a pair of size 22 jeans appears 

on the screen, the audience of women sighs with sympathy or is it pity?*

and I knew I wasn't setting the example that I wanted to 

for my children.

One day, after picking up the kids from daycare,

as I was trying to carry their backpacks and finger paintings

inside from the car, I decided that I was going to do something

about my weight.

Since then, I've lost over one hundred pounds."

*a picture of Shelby holding up her old jeans appears next to the old picture.

The audience bursts into enthusiastic applause*

Kate nods, smiles and claps along with the audience.

Her face says What an Inspiration

As the applause dies off, 

Kate stops clapping and turns back to Shelby.

"What was going through your head

that day, getting home from daycare

with your children?"

"I was tired of feeling --"

*click*

The remote bounces once 

on the cushion of the couch, and the backdoor opens

to the grass,

bare feet over belly fat.

Sleep Walk

I wrote today's poem with a collection of magnets that I bought some time ago at a thrift store. I decorated the metal border under my window with the words as soon as I was back in my room, thinking I would use them daily for creative exercises. Sadly, with less than a month left in the semester, this is the first time that I have made a point of using them. I pushed a few words together once or twice, while avoiding homework. I remember the combination

season 

of

love 

seed

staring at me from my favorite spot by the window for about a month. Other silly pairs like "but crack" made appearances as well.The following poem, however, is the longest strain of magnet words I have yet to string together. Enjoy!

Without a Manual

Chains, washers, and spokes

You are a great mechanic,

But girls are not bikes.

Ich habe das wort Apfel gelernt

"Guten morgen"
"Gut geschlafen?"
"Ja"
Du liest mir ein buch vor.
Du sagst "Du machst mich glücklich,
meine liebe."
...
Das feld
Der berg
Du sagst "meine liebe" 
aber du sagst nein. 
Nein nein nein und nein 
meine liebe
...
Das licht, die wand, die tür
Ich mache die tür auf.

Elementary Decisions

There are 10 people --
one rope.
The last event of the day
and the mothers have their cameras out.
The brick school is behind.
Miss Fisher's room
(and it's Miss. Fisher, you hear?
Mrs. Fisher is my mother)
has a window with a nice view
of the scene,
but no one's inside today
to watch out the windows.
Mrs. Groff, blue shorts
and tight tan calves, stands
by the orange cone.
It looks like a witches hat
but more erect,
more stolid,
more ...orange.
Maybe it doesn't look like a witch's hat after all.
They line up,
facing each other.
They lift the rope off the ground,
red hankies tied to its middle, marking the win.
The whistle is in her mouth.
Everyone knows what they want --
except for the rope.

National Poetry Month -- Part Two

April is a month
30 days in length
Today is April first,
(15 more minutes for a prank!)
but this is not a joke,
my friends,
I'm telling you the truth,
that by the time that May arrives
I'll have some poems for you.
30 to be exact --
a poem every day.
I'm counting on some sloppy ones,
but I think that it's okay
to write a rhyme-y silly thing
at 11:48
Just to keep the poems coming
each by its due date.