MAP
82
This
week's theme: Coffee Tribute: Happiness is just a thing called Joe.
(with
a last minute arrival for Memorial Day theme)
Upcoming
Themes
Issue
83: Second Generation: Poetry by the Children of Poets
Issue
84: Basketball Diaries: Poetry about hoops, the sports
Thanks
to all who have generously permitted me to publish your works in the
MAP.
1.
From Chuck Rice of Coral Springs, Florida
Wednesdays
At DONUTS PLUS+
Regulars
at the donut shop,
we
park our lives outside
and
meet each week
to
share with friends dear,
claiming
territorial rights
to
certain tables,
the
security of routine,
sanctuary
in a changing world.
We
lean on the cheap formica
and
stare out smudged windows
that
detach us and separate us
from
the world, from each other.
This
is our way station
in
the cosmic shuffle of life
where
fears are aired,
problems
shared, doors opened,
bonds
made and broken
as
we sip our coffee,
pondering
the mysteries
and
chewing the fat of life,
safe
behind our windows.
What
might your pleasure be?
Is
it, perhaps, a glazed
donut,
a lot of sugar coated
puffed
up nothing
going
in a circle
with
an empty hole
as
its center, or
is
it a full-bodied treat
with
a rich, filled center?
From
empty booths
the
sick addiction of media
stares
out, dead-faced
from
the pages of scattered
newspapers,
wars and rumors
of
war. Across the counter,
as
if on some schedule,
a
lone regular suddenly leaves.
A
old bearded vagabond,
he
appears a homeless, hatless,
disheveled
Lincoln.
Once
outside,
he
frees the crumbs
in
his hand
across
the sunshine.
The
insiders look on,
look
down
through
the smudged
windows,
as though
they
were someone.
With
one sweep of his arm,
he
writes poems across the air
as
he feeds the pigeons.
Behind
us,
one
of the waitresses,
a
crusty old broad,
refuting
brotherly admonishing,
remarks
to her roguish men friends
in
defense of her solitude,
“Hell,
there’s only one thing
that
I need a man for,
to
open stuck windows.”
by
Charles David Rice
2.
Jimmy Jazz sent me this one all the way from San Diego
Espresso
ex machina
the
ghost in the machine
is
caffeine
by
Jimmy Jazz
3.
Larry Jaffe of L.A. wrote a whole "He/She Java" series,
with deference to e.e.cummings. Here is one. All nine episodes are at
http://www.lgjaffe.com/java/
episode
2
he
drank his coffee bitter
she
drank her coffee like wine
he
drank it black
she
drank hers iced
he
took a healthy swig
she
sipped lady like
he
drank in her eyes
she
read his memoirs
he
smiled speculatively
she
smiled softly
he
wished she was naked
she
wished he would think to himself
he
grinned lasciviously
she
frowned posthumously
he
handed her a line
she
handed him the check
©
1998 lgjaffe
4.
And last, but certainly not least, a Memorial Day poem from that Poet
Anonymous Sam Hurst from Springfield, Virginia. Last week's theme was
"Memorial Day" but whaddaya know today is Memorial Day. The
following poem is not intended for the squeamish or namby-pamby.
DIGNITY
"I
don't want to die without shoes on!"
He
shouted at me
tears
streaming down his face.
"My
father died in the fields man!
He
had no god-damned shoes on.
I
can still see his feet
all
cracked, dried, and split open.
The
damned overseer walked past like he was shit.
Without
shoes there ain't no fucking dignity, man!"
The
pungent smoke burned my eyes
as
I ran about like a maniac.
"Alright,
alright --- God almighty, I'm looking!"
I
shouted, but the voice was only a whisper.
I
looked, I looked, Lord did I look!
It
wasn't long, but seemed --- an eternity,
before
I found them.
Oddly,
they had landed close together
when
blown off
by
that damned land mine.
I
took off my shoes
and
put them on his
mangled
and severed feet.
We
held each other, crying,
until
he died --- with dignity.
©
Sam Hurst, the Man in the Black Hat