The Poetry Marathon

You can’t see the successful professional,

The experienced traveler,

The great mom with happy marriage,

The wise, multi-talented woman I’m becoming.

You see faded,

Diminished,

Almost vanished.

Even with a splash of color

I’m invisible.

Nothing to offer.

Not a prospective adversary or mate.

Don’t need unsolicited advice.

Too slow. In the way.

Out of touch. Old School.

Unseen is an advantage.

I see you.  I see me in you.

I observe and know that you, too,

Will soon be invisible.

Surrounded by dead people.

They visit us at home or traveling,

Day or night, asleep or awake.

We see them in other people,

In ourselves.

They’re sneaky.

They pop up in the grocery aisle,

Sit beside us at the movies,

Often join us for dinner at holidays.

The longer we live, the more

Dead people we know.

Accidents, disease, suicide, war

Add to our list of dead companions.

We can be lonely

Even in a crowd.

The light is just right.

Background of red and beige,

Decorated with dark brown dots.

Creases ironed in muslin,

Crow’s feet

If crows had eighteen toes.

Alien furrows

Separate black caterpillars,

Above a drooping but decorated squint.

Folds like elephant skin

Appear around the smile,

Seersucker button below.

A pillar of crepe draperies

Falling in folds for support.

Spots and crevices that

Don’t show in the mirror.

Sunlight reveals

The landscape it helped create.

Your generation must Save the World.

It’s your turn. We tried.

Did we?

Climate change.

Famine.

Racism.

Nuclear weapons.

We marched, rioted,

Spoke truth to power,

For ourselves.

I’m sorry.

You can’t afford

Greed, selfishness, bigotry.

Elect leaders with foresight.

Put children first.

You must Save the World

Not for yourselves,

But for the next generations.

What do you want?

Endless road or cul-de-sac?

You know the way to work,

Their schools, music lessons.

Not needed.

Throw out the Rand McNally and Garmin.

Make your own MapQuest.

Explore a new path

Or stay within your gated community,

Safe.

Make new business. Get busy.

Clean out that clutter you’ve collected.

Quick. Find a hobby.

Don’t think.

Keep the feelings you know.

It’s all extracurricular now.

No program.

Change or more of the same?

I am a sixty-four year old White/Native female. I live in Tulsa, Oklahoma with my retired, curmudgeon husband and dog who sheds her weight in hair every day. Writing is hard. I’d stop if I could.

Finished the half marathon. Good luck to the marathon poem writers. I don’t think I could ever do that. I added a 13th poem this last hour. It is a revision of a previous poem. I wrote about food and restaurants. I told my husband today that I couldn’t make food because I was too busy writing about it. I’m going to go eat, now.

Loud, pretentious, brassy conditions.

Too few partitions.

I’ll be taking care of you.

Perky and solicitous.

Fulfilling all your wishes.

Tasty and delicious?

Awesome, those dishes?

Smiling and accepting the over-priced, over-advertised food fabrications.

Pretending that superlatives apply to simple samplings.

Feigning satisfaction.

High calories,

A well-deserved reward for hard work and high salaries.

By Sue Storts

08/13/2016

Wine SNITS (Snobs In Training)

The evening starts slowly.

Nibbling hors d’oeuvres.

Looking, swirling, sniffing, tasting.

Thoughtfully pouring, discussing, considering

Cherries, hints of blueberries, notes of leather and tobacco.

Grassiness and minerality.

Some oak. Too much?

Alcohol content. Alcohol?

More talking. Less sniffing. More swilling.

Gulps replace sips.

Appetizers disappear.

Raucous laughter and boisterous conversation.

Training ends on a high note.

The training is never done.

By Sue Storts

08/13/2016

We’re Regulars. Regular customers.

We eat here at least once a week.

They know what we like to eat.

We don’t need menus.

We’re friendly and chat with the wait staff.

We know each other by name.

The cook says Hello.

We tip well.

We sometimes openly discuss our

Religious and political beliefs.

We hope they like us. Really like us,

And don’t make fun of us behind our backs.

Or throw away personal possessions we might accidentally leave.

Or secretly wish us harm.

Or spit in our food.

By Sue Storts

08/13/2016