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Poetry

Poetry

the day before the day before christmas eve

"give me back my socks" my brother ole squawks, one lousy pair of faded tube socks sets the house on end, "those are Bennett's" mom says just before i call her anal, i want out of here

walking through shopko on the verge of screaming,

screaming like they do at the end of any semester at Harvard or Yale, the kind of white towel yell you don't come back from no matter how much therapy or Prozac,

artist canvases was what i wanted but all they had was Styrofoam boards, the hell, the town of my childhood,  first kiss, first everything, comes up short on the simplest thing.

everyday i cursed Houston's congested streets, impartial people and the smog loving roaches which sublet my bathroom; Minnesota feels like Nebraska or south Dakota, even Iowa -God forbid- one potato in a 50 pound sack.

when did home become a glorified dorm room full of biting ants and a broken-down air-conditioner ?

why do i have the feeling i could never live in Mankato again, and if i visit it will only be for the weekend, I'll rent a rental car and stay at the holiday inn like one of those relatives who isn't quite close enough or important enough to sleep in the master bedroom and goes elsewhere because he knows it

maybe next time I'll crash at Bernt's place, Barry has room, or Doug

or i could pack more socks

what if its me who's changed, become the bayou city's latest bastard child; indifferent to the smell of traffic in the morning and incapable of seeing the beauty of small town until a friend is shot in a drive by, or my motorcycle    carjacked

note to self  "pack more socks"

by Justin Olmanson                               

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read at your own risk...

discovered, lost and squandered

death

various people

prayers, hymns and questions

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