Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Gazing At A New Datebook For A New Year


Pages flip with cooperation of
Index finger and thumb.
A purr of flickering whiteness:
Respectful, quiet, numb.

It’s way too soon to divine what
Kind of year it will be:
The handwriting isn’t on the wall
Where anyone can see.

A prayer descends like a shadow
Eager to be bestowing
Strength to deal with whatever
Spitballs fate is throwing.

 

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Embattled Rep. Scalisi Claims He Was Unaware He Gave A Speech To White Supremacists


Steve must’ve done this when he was really young
Which is a perfectly honest defense.
So, cut him some slack! Wait: he was thirty-seven?
Oh, then these complaints make sense.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Thoughts About Our Digital Age


Those who are convinced that apps will be
A perennial should be aware
They’re perhaps like wine coolers from back
When Bruce Willis had hair.


Mulling Over That New Seth Rogan-James Franco Movie


The interview in "The Interview"
Is nothing more than slick hoax:
Freedom's just another word
For lots and lots of dick jokes.

http://img2.timeinc.net/ew/i/2014/12/17/the-interview-05.jpg



 

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

A Post-9/11 Christmas


(This took place circa 2008.)

An L.A. Valley College parking lot had been
Appropriated during these
Weeks before Santa’s arrival to sell some fir,
Pine, cedar & cypress trees.

There weren’t many trees left. The salesman
(A sleazy “Jersey Shore” kind of guido)
Was barking into his phone, one imagines to
His stewardess girlfriend in San Pedro.

Then he saw her walk onto the lot: somehow
I sensed this would be an epic fail.
She was tiny, quiet, from the Middle East and
(Good guess) was wearing a veil.

He forced a smile at her. She nodded and then he
Said into his cell, “I’d like to fling this
Muslim woman right off the lot --- I’d bet heavy
She can barely speak a word of English.”

She hovered beside the saddest tree on the lot --- to him
This was worthy of derisive laughter.
It didn’t look like a tree anyone took home but like those
Seen unsold on a lot the day after.

“How much?” she asked. He gazed with contempt
And then blurted out, “Fifty.” One
Then noticed she gave him the once over and felt
That he, not she, was the shifty one.

He just lost it. “Get the hell out of here. Go home
To your Koran and your kebobs ---
You … people … please … you disgust me with your
Body odor & convenience store jobs.”

She knew she was being disrespected in ways
That made her feel both hated & also dirty.
Her vocabulary was limited but sufficient: she
Looked at him, the tree & shot back, “Thirty.”

Did this piss him off? Do you really have to ask?
Oh, yeah. Not a little but plenty.
He swore and yelled and then swore some more
Until she calmly replied, “Twenty.”

I left before this transaction ended which sort of
Makes it difficult to finish this poem:
I bet she kept haggling until he broke down and
Gave her $10 to take it and go home.

 

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Boston Uber Driver Accused Of Rape


It seems when this company does its hiring
It so often manages to get jerks:
It’s officially become the Bill Cosby of app-
Based transportation networks.


http://www.huffingtonpost.com/…/alejandro-done-boston-uber-…
 

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Ed Ruscha


New York had Warhol
Toss him a bouquet
But Los Angeles has
The artist Ed Ruscha.


His cool word paintings
Are sly, often jokey
(Ruscha, by the way, is
A bona fide Okie.)

“Art is something that
Makes you scratch your head”
Is something that Ruscha
Once memorably said.

Ruscha’s very first books? They
Were all DIY
Most bookstores didn’t want ‘em
Which is why

Ed asked a guy named Joe
To please give ‘em a look
And maybe put them on
Shelves of the Book Nook:

Joe’s teensy bookstore, just
A tiny part
Of Brentwood’s Brentwood
Country Mart.

Joe said okay and soon his
Customers did see
These most curious art books
Practically for free.

This guy who I knew way way
Back in the day
Bought every Ruscha book there
But gave ‘em away

To friends as hip gifts, totally lacking
The rationale to
Realize these would wind up as things
Of great value.

Good guess: I was that guy and this poor
Judgment broke my heart.
However, it later made me regard myself
As a work of Art.

What a dope! What was I thinking? I often
Want to yell. Still
If that doesn’t make you scratch your head,
What the hell will?