An Ode to the Guy Asking Me For Money in the Parking Lot of a Fairfield Inn

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The stay was quite nice at the Fairfield Inn
I think we all had a restful sleep.
The breakfast was tasty, eggs and pastries
and the prices weren’t even that steep!

We’re still several miles away from the beach.
I’m wishing we took an airplane.
After hours of driving, screaming and whining,
We’re loading the car up again.

Our Nissan’s re-packed with towels, toys and crap,
(we never did use much discretion).
I slam the trunk shut and start to move but,
A car pulls in behind us and asks for directions.

The man looks beat up, on his head a bloody lump
This situation is starting to feel funny.
He looks in my eyes and to my surprise says,
“Is there any way I could get some money?”

“My daughter’s in Morgantown and her boyfriend is bad.
The bastard just busted her nose.
So can I have some cash, to fill up on gas?
I’m on empty, don’t mean to impose.”

I look to my left and I look to my right
A Sunoco’s a stone’s throw away.
I think it’s a scam but it’s just who I am,
I’m feeling charitable today.

What do you call it, when you pull out your wallet
so some stranger can go to the gas pump
and he doesn’t go pay, he just drives away?
You call it: being a chump.

He’s on the highway with my remaining charity
And whatever goodwill I have left.
Hope that $20 I gave up will be enough to save up
So he can buy that fatal dose of meth.

Poems for Capitalists: AE Houseman

The realm of poetry has for centuries skewed towards socialism.  Whitman, Ginsberg, Cummings and Hughes all have threads of socialist values interwoven in their words.  However, capitalists are humans too.  They think and feel and yearn.  So I have taken the liberty of repurposing old poems and making them more friendly to a capitalist.  As you know, if they succeed on their own merit, then they will thrive.

When I Was One and Twenty
Original by AE Houseman

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
“Take quarters and dollars and pennies
And stick them in your 401k;
Use mutual funds and municipal bonds
And they should have a low fee.”
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
“The compounding interest is
the best way for tax-deferred gains;
‘Tis paid through direct deposit
And should be maxed out in your youth.”
Now I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

Is This My Home Now?

Is this my home now?
Little green beds
and flat reds
laying perpendicular to the carpets
and parallel to the water well?

I don’t understand.
The sunlight spreads
in oranges
passing by the windowpanes
waiting until the wicker fades.

If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong.
But these separate green beds
(as I’ve said and said and said)
would stand out in the shadows
of that corner there
like little clips of grass
spread out against a blacktop.

My Precious Little Joke

Humans have unrealistic expectations about the world. One time, I saw a guy get mad at a waiter because there weren’t any crackers with his soup. I mean, that guy really wants it all, doesn’t he?

“Excuse me, waiter. How do you propose I eat this liquid I ordered without it being crunchy at the same time? FIX IT!”  – Me

 

Silence. – The Audience

 

Amber rays of an Autumn morning’s sunlight
Shift onto the face of my sleeping little joke.
Flecks of morning dust flicker briefly from its
wavering eyes. A deep breath and a return to sleep.

No one will understand you my dear, my darling.
But I did and I do and I created you.
Maybe my maternal instincts lift patient courtesies
In front of your path, fraught with distractions and despair.

I should let you fail, let you stand on quaking pink legs
And show you the hard way that life is a cold swim.
If jokes were to dream, I’m sure you’d see me.
I heard you cry out, but I won’t rock you back to bed.

I won’t materialize in the midst of collapsing danger
I’ll just close the door for now, turning the handle
So that the click of the clasp won’t wake you.
You’ll see a set list soon.  A deep breath and a return to sleep.