Ranch Unit C

We lived out Watsonville Road on a ranch
In a half finished house (two rooms, $1500)
Surrounded by dogs and dust.
With neighbor landlords who sprinted to LA almost every weekend.
She said once I know Frank.
Sinatra?
Stallone! Even better.
The first time the power went out romantic like
We sat outside and drank beer
And talked about California
And how it was not here.

Michigan Randy was there fixing our household hurts
While his own sat untouched and creaking
When the wind blew.
He married into the landlord's family and left his family in regret
And went back to Michigan.
And Teagan moved in with daughters and swimming pool
And the landlords moved up top in the big house
And Teagan complained about the landlords
Noise and promises and damn it she makes so much noise
I can't sleep
                                                Because of the crystal
I'm clean for my kids, you know
                                                Because of the crystal the kids exist
And Teagan lived there until she died
In her jeep
In a lake up by Tahoe
She drove right in
Because of the crystal.

Santa Cruz

Why do I love this town?
This isn't a town its a collection of
Stamps with the souls printed upside down.
Pennies shining brightly nightly.
Buses with stuffed animals attached
Astronomy students with laptops attached
The Last Hippies with no attachments.

Why do I love this town?
A man not selling, not commercial
Is outside the Urban Outfitters
Calmly reading calmly watching tourists
Collecting totems of adventure for
Display in the valley towns.
His sign, his folding coffee table simple and approachable.
The sign reads
Empathy.

Why do I love this town?

Dad's Song

I mean this to be the first of a series of poems about the family. 

I.
Never be angry.
I can't remember my dad very well.
I can remember how he sounded.
He never sounded that mean or sad
But he was both, hidden where
He could watch them.
And they drove him into doing things.

I remember the envy and the hate.
I remember the sadness
More than I remember him.
He was old and a long journey ended.
Charming, angry and drunk
One following the other, taking him
Everywhere but where anyone else wanted to go.

When charming he laughed like the springtime
When angry and drunk he bellowed.
     Some examples:
Balls! (exasperation voice for mechanicals)
Bull Shit! (exasperation voice for people)
Asshole! (exasperation voice that made me laugh)
Still does maybe it's the word that does the trick.

Hardly ever said fuck or cocksucker
Those unwrapped gifts
Are my exasperation voice for him. 

II.
He
     Gave me a tape recorder once which
     Caused me to laugh at his voice.
I
     Don't know if that hurt him but he laughed
     At it himself. Or laughed at me laughing at him.
     I was nine and I did not know he
     Stole
     It
     From
     Work.
Did it matter?
Does it now?

My stapler labeled University of Iowa
Is from him. Really it is a gift from
Some random supply closet at the hospital.
Was he fired for the theft of the stapler?

III.
His friends if you can call them that
Had strange names.

Ace
     who was old with a white beard
     He mixed mashed potatoes and corn
     Which I do
     I like the colors of yellow corn on the
     Whitish background of the potatoes
     With salt and pepper and brown of the
     Potato skin. One memory of Ace.

Norb
     Worked at the cab company. Norb
     Short for Norbert. He sat next to Mom
     At Dad's funeral and said to her
    "Jesus I'm glad Mark's not here" using my
     Real name because Dad did.
     That made two of us. I stayed away
     And missed Dad's last spectacle
     And last friend

Mystery Woman
     At the funeral who paid for the casket and
     Took the American flag nicely folded
     While my mom watched open mouthed.
     Not shocked not angry but
     Understanding what she was watching
     Was what she accused him of for my entire life.
     It was right there and she looked at Mom
     With venom and thought
     The exact same thing.

"Jesus I'm glad Mark's not here."
That makes two of us.

Interview Day

I.
I'm 5 minutes early
They are twenty minutes late

On the way to the East Bay
My tire was flat and I stopped.
Paid some nice kid quatro
For some air. Didn't have to pay
But I needed to get some positive vibes
For this exercise in negativity

So, how do you
               deal with
                   defiance?

Embrace it
That kid is pissed
That student is alive
I need to find out what makes her so.
Teenagers are defiant, their beings are defiant
Adults wish for that but must show
How to make defiance work.

II.
You advertise small classes and clock
In at thirty
Small for around here
Big for those who are never here

So, how do you deal
               with a student
               who is sixteen but reads
               like a fourth grader?

You cannot deal with that student.
Ask!
Is there something to work with?
Why is the student in trouble?
What are his interests?
Can he write a paragraph?
Have a paragraph about that baseball player
Or man in his neighborhood who works
The corner store that he has known forever
Familiar subjects can breed unfamiliar words
Phrases and accomplishments.

III.
They ask questions about putting out fires
Not about instruction. They are past instruction.
Planning is done for them leaving instruction
As a one shot video
Of a lesson less than indicative
Of originality
And quality. 


 

Advertising

Authenticity of a message
That will sell
A manufactured image
Of truth that is not there
Of an identity of a mask.

But this isn't about marketing
This isn't about sales
                       (But it is)
This isn't about money
                       (But it is)
This isn't about what is needed
                        But it is
                        About
                        What is wanted

Bar Riff #2

I.
Drunk republican with a plastic bag
Fill of take out food he does not remember
Ordering

Throws his twenties on the bar
And yells about
Obama

Says it like a cuss word in church
Like evil that boils out of hollow cheeks
And the song plays
Mommy told me yes she told me 
I'd meet girls like you

II.
Kill Bill talks in sports
Football
49ers
That big fucker does this
And runs fast
That big
Hey!
What happened with that

Kill Bill talks in twice told tales
Retold
Again
Retold
For those people who do not know.

Kill Bill acts
did he really
Put a shot glass through his TV?
Slap his grandmother?
Drop kick the neighbor's terrier onto the roof
Of a passing car
And make a field goal sign?
Could anyone be that way and hold down a job
Or a life of any worth?


 

Lesson on tape

Why do I speak like that?
Fumbling over words and syllables
Like I have marbles in my mouth while
I speak into a can.

I move like an ape, like a cat with
A broken leg
Shambling around the room so self conscious
Of what that red light means.

Critique! Critique!
Shout out loud how much
You suck at your job
How terrible you are
Quit while you are ahead

Before more damage is done
To fragile students.

Mean

What does this word mean, exactly? Oxford says:
Convey
Intend
Unwilling to give or share
Unkind, spiteful
An average
A condition, quality or course of action
Equally removed from two apparent extremes.

I don't understand why it is mean
To call someone average.
Is there distinction in being average?
In this culture it is distinctly wrong.

I don't understand why we
Are unwilling to give or share.
I do understand intent.
People who are mean mean harm
This is an early lesson.

We sometimes never learn to spot the mean ones
Or we know them but fail to spot their meanings.
I mean to avoid extremes.

Laundromat Sunday

I.
Had to use the quad loader for the colors.
At 8:10 every third machine is taken
But only four people are here including
The older lady in the corner
On the leather chair.
I will have to fight for dryers.
The older lady is always here, never smiling.
She never speaks.
I can't tell sometimes if she is alive.
The quad loader on extract cycle
Sounds like a turbine
Of some enormous beast
Straining to take off with an incredible load.

II.
State of the art front load washers
The sign is circa 1990.
The poster (2005) promises you balance in life
The woman (couldn't be a man) juggles laughing babe,
car keys, clothes and a box of french fries.
Uncluttered minds in a cluttered world
The snack bar is no longer
It is filled with overflow wash, dry and fold.
This man, this owner, knows his business and
Works 12 hours a day.
I see him every two weeks and do not know his name.

III.
Tweaker with phone in one hand
Wash in the other:
                                  You're foolin' me!
                                  That isn't funny!
She is impossibly thin, impossibly less than forty
But trying to look 25.
My single load washing whites is slower
Than the mighty quad loader which
Has speed to match its size. The detergent stained water
Runs down the glass like spilled milk.
The time of drying approaches.
The quad washer spins its last,
Twitching, really.
Light off (wheel stop)
And out the clothes come.