American Beauty

This was a post from three years ago.  I think, Marta, the main character, still had more to say.


A clap of thunder

The family dog

Hid under the stairs

Among canning jars

Bags and boxes

Excuse the mess

We just moved

Marta greeted

At the door

Whatever was there

Was, all she had

Mere little white lies

Ignored, because they

Didn’t matter that much

So what, if they’d moved

Three years before?

Nobody cared that

Her piercing blue eyes

No longer had anything

To offer, other than

Reflected sadness, despair

Echoed in lines, wrinkles

Graying, unkempt hair

Marta gazed at the stars

Through broken windows

And an overgrown lawn

Full of broken-down cars

She waited for her

Hard-drinking husband

Poor excuse of a man

To stumble home

Sometime before dawn

Fate had not been kind

She straightened clutter

Just enough to keep

From losing her mind

Death of the All Night Diner

Equal opportunity offenders walked on eggshells.  Looked for opportunities to please themselves.   Hid from overly sensitive souls.

How did they find room for all that hate in their hearts?

Save the planet.  Save the planet.  Who were we saving it for?  A generation that didn’t appreciate what they already had?  Look what happened to newspapers printed on real paper.

A mother shushed her baby daughter with a bite of pancake.

At another table, a family clad in sports paraphernalia, planned the day’s events.

Across the room, an older gentleman with silver-rimmed glasses, sat alone.  His gray hair and round face, lost in an ocean of senior citizens.

“Two eggs over easy, whole wheat toast, a side order of grits, and black coffee,” Arthur  ordered from the pleasant, middle-aged waitress.

Waves of loneliness bubbled up from within.  Arthur’s calloused hands rested, firmly clasped on the table top.  Nothing was ever the same after the death of the all night diner.

 

 

HURTFUL EYES


trash

To you, I may be only
A smelly cigar butt
Tossed in the street
With candy wrappers
Miscellaneous detritus
I don’t need your pity
I’d rather be ignored
Than pitied

Don’t offer a helping hand
Draw it away, then sneer
When I stumble and fall
I’ve still got my pride
I’m not here for your
Entertainment
Neither, a jester
Nor, a pawn

For entertainment
Look in the mirror
Outside, you’re a man
But, still a child inside
I pretended to like you
Because, I had to
While deep down
I despised your
Arrogance, and
Disrespect

 

J. P. WHISTLETHICKET

cemetary

Eccentricity, insanity?
No one could really say
The day, he passed away
An odd sort of fellow
Hated, the color yellow
Nobody cared, that
He left a small fortune
To, his favorite
Stuffed, teddy bear

He, wouldn’t go out
On windy days
For fear, his thoughts
Might, blow away
Did he have
Regrets or fears?
Meager mourners
Shed no tears

A purveyor of
Gloom and doom
J. P. Whistlethicket
Somebody else
Nobody knew