Eyesore
The shanties spill over
The top of the hills
Until they meet
The gleaming luxury
High-rises housing
People who complain
About what an eyesore
It is to look out on
A bunch of poor people.
Shrinking Soap Bar
She’s noticed the constantly
Shrinking soap bar lately,
Becoming smaller and smaller,
Dissolving more quickly,
Carefully shaped to
Break in half sooner,
Infused with less fragrance.
For as long as she can
Remember, bars of soap
Were a certain size but,
At some point, it became
Acceptable for companies
To sell whatever they want,
Knowing they have a
Captive audience with
No other real options.
What It Is
It all happened so fast,
Nobody was ready for it,
As evidenced by their
Random utterings,
Contemplations normally
Left for quieter moments
When others aren’t around.
A woman walks through
The room,
Trying to calm people down,
But they don’t listen,
Uncertainty being what it is.
Straightforward Task
It can’t just be easy,
I guess,
Everything appears to have
The distinct tendency to
Become annoyingly complicated
Instead of pleasantly simple,
Developing into ever more
Complex convolutions of
Contortions engendering
Unnecessary grief and
Consternation rather than
Peace and calm,
A straightforward task
No longer,
Realization elusive.
Entry-Level Job
Carrying some trash bags
Out to the dumpster behind
The fast food restaurant,
She breathes the
Exhaust-infused air
And tries to avoid thinking
About the hundreds of
Meaningless chores
She’ll do during her shift
Before she goes to
Her other job
So her family can
Barely make ends meet.
On someone’s radio
At the drive-through,
A man talks about how it’s
Just an entry-level job.
She Raises Her Hand
She raises her hand
To answer a question,
A tattered book used
By many classes before
Her lays on her scarred
Desk in a room with
Peeling paint, torn floors,
Water-stained ceiling tiles.
Exclusive Club
He’s been incapable of
Accepting that
Times are changing and
That his exclusive club
Now lets in members
Who don’t look like him and,
He fears, will unravel
The whole scam.
Empty Space
Each key means something,
I try to make sense of it all,
Tapping randomly with
Little purpose beyond
Filling empty space.
It would be nice if at least
Part of it were meaningful,
But I know it’s not,
Nor do I expect it to be,
Unless something changes.
Near
There are times when
She still speaks to me
In the middle of some
Mundane task or
Important event.
I’m grateful to hear
Her, remembering what
It was like to
Have her near.