To Un-Sink A Heart (For Nancy)

A re-acquainted old friend had a great line: "My heart sinks a bit whenever a friend tells me he's started blogging." Especially when a given post is long, I guess. Or, most certainly a poem, I assume. Oh well, here's a poetic attempt (relatively short) in hopes of dredging up a sinking heart.

Ode to Jewel


Poets are meant to live in attics,
So says Pop star and best-selling poet Jewel
(not to be confused with the name
of a supermarket chain in Chicago;
is her last name Osco?).
Well, Jewel, maybe we do our writing in attics,
But we live in backseats
Amid old milkshake containers
Cigaretted upholstery
Funk—the sound and the smell—
Last month’s papers
Broken seat belts
Abused maps.
We also haunt rivers
Fiery
Stagnant
Dammed
Insurgent.
And we’ve been known to loiter between trains
Gravel-gazing
Enduring
Suspended
Hopeful
Waiting for the sound first, always the sound first.
At times you might find us squatting in supermarkets
Sneaking peaks at cashiers and bag boys
And cheating a baker’s dozen rutabagas through the express aisle.
I’m acquainted with a couple who throw free parties
In phone booths.
And one bard I used to know flops his welcome mat
And hangs his anti-bug strip at the mailbox
On the corner of Pepto and Bismal in Kankakee, Illinois.

Of course, you’d know all of this if you were half the poet I am.