Missing Wedge

A cheese head short

Of being a traitor in Packer land

Hiding behind the pages, the glasses, the bookshelves,

Hoping to be invisible for just a moment longer

In the land of a game that is so embedded in the soul

That anyone who is not involved 

Is a treacherous spirit, a miscreant and worse yet, a nerd.

Exile for anyone

Who does not know the details

Of the fatal call, final move, final score,

End zone dance of the sacred holy men

In green and gold with laurels upon their helmets

And padding upon their divine muscles.

Zealous preachers of Astroturf and domed arenas

Recognized by the golden foam on their heads

And draughts on their lips,

Brushing away everything else in life as insignificant,

Almost criminal, in the height of the season

That blesses the houses, 

Shuns the man, stuns the man

Who dares to stand up to the roaring crowd,

Admitting that he would rather read a book instead.

Under The Hood

Riding on fumes

Ignoring the voice inside my head

Disregarding the rattle and shake and warning lights

Ignoring Dad’s voice from beyond the grave

The world beyond the auto graveyard

The distant voice so frustrated with the whims

And carefree ideals of a young girl

Rattling and shaking

And the car rattles and I get all rattled up

Shaking in my little red boots

Shaking to the tunes

Blasting away the voice

That shines and laughs in time to the tune

Tuning up, tuning out

“What’s wrong with this one? She’s not like the others…”

Shaking and rattling and riding on the fumes

Sliding into the home base,

Coasting into the hometown station

Stationary in the place where I grew up

The voice still calling to put gas in that car

And to check the oil and the fluid levels and the tires

And to eat some ham because all Polish people eat ham

“Why don’t you eat ham?”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Filling my tank and checking my oil, I finally feel like an adult

As the muffled voice on the loudspeaker shouts

“Don’t forget to buy your ham sandwich!”

The Grind

Hating that crushed pepper

Cracked pepper, ground pepper

Burning my thumb

Burning a memory of a child

With rules to live by

Follow them, break them

Suffer the consequences

Feel the pain

Eat that black pepper

Sprinkled on your food

On your hand

Speak no evil and nothing will ever happen to you

With the bar of soap in your mouth

At the swine bar

Hogging the bar, hogging the pepper

Barring all convention

Barring all pain

And all that jazz

That sprinkles and sizzles and burns

And cries out for more spice in the sunlight

Under the shiny mess that crinkles your potatoes

Cries out for more pepper

And disciplines the frivolity

Do what is right and leave the spice to everybody else

Crunch those crackers and notes and numbers

That bends and pushes the pepper

Hot stuff, hot rush on Rush Street

Cry like a baby

Drink the pepper sauce

Crying for a new destination, new wooden ruler

Wooden spoon making the rules

Cracking the whip

Cracking the pepper

As we all crack up.