30 days / 30 Poems (Rugsucker Series)

As some of you might know, I’m occasionally plagued with nightmares about a  carpet-cleaning job I had decades ago. Fortunately, it’s a mild and inconsistent malady which I generally refer to as The Rugsucker Dreams.

Although the job was mostly in Connecticut, last night’s Rugsucker was set in The White House (don’t ask me why).

This week I offer a (cumulative) collection (ie Day 20, Day 20 & 21, days 20 through 22, etc.)

The Rugsucker In Washington

Some don’t need cleaning,
simply deodorizing
—The Oval Office—

30 Days / 30 Poems #19

alone on the porch
a man welcomes the morning
–Spanish cedar flute–

(6 Word Saturday) 30 Days / 30 Poems # 18

Saturday at dawn. Rum and Coke.

It might be April.
It’s a little hard to tell—
it’s kind of foggy.


NaPoWriMo 04.18.15

Saturday? Call on Call Me Cate at: SHOW MY FACE


30 Days / 30 Poems #17

The Wait

Can I he pointed and of course
her hand replied smiling out
another coffee and otherwise
ignoring his all over her like
every yesterday and today
the same old thing but
what the hell she thought
what the hell her small tips
hung in the grinning balance

—NaPoWriMO  04.17.15—

30 Days / 30 Poems #16

Ed, Special

He wrote a sentence.
Six words with a capital.
Period. Success.

—NaPoWriMo 04.16.15—

30 Days / 30 Poems #15

Sevenling (there was weeping)

There was weeping and wailing.
Death and destruction reigned;
fire and brimstone everywhere.

Some survivors tried meditation
or did some sort of penance—
most just watched and waited.

Monday, Monday.

—NaPoWriMo  04.15.15—

30 Days / 30 Poems # 14

all the slow students
visit the farm on Tuesdays
tell llamas their names


30 Days / 30 Poems #13

All I Ask

Please say it’s Friday
or even humpy Wednesday
–Don’t make it Monday–


30 Days / 30 Poems #12

Wells Beach Fiasco

People line up to pump quarters
into the binoculars, imagining,
as they wait, that the fog
that has obscured their view
all week long, stealing even the
merest glimpse of the lighthouse island,
will not continue to do so
once they have so dutifully
paid the bonus for the privilege.

No matter how many of them are
turned away disappointed, the next
sucker’s ready to step right up,
squinting at the incrementally
brightening sun, hoping to be
the first among the horde to get
his full three minutes worth of
observational ecstasy, the first
full measure of Tourisimo Maximus.

—NaPoWriMo  04.12.15—

Six Word Saturday

This Daily Poem Marathon’s Killing Me

It’s the same thing every April: wait until the last minute to decide about participation, make a bad choice (ie:participate), then spend the month alternately hating myself for not being more creative / productive and loving myself for having the chutzpah to either write something new or to snag something from the Works-In-Progress File (a/k/a Dead Zone) and revise/revitalize it into being.

Oh well; truck on, I suppose.  Eleven down, nineteen to go.  Sorry to bug you.

It’s just how I’m built.


More (probably better) Sixes at Call Me Cate‘s SHOW MY FACE



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