Little Vines Week of 12/21/20

This week’s Little Vines.

why does the traffic drive so spiky on the street
why does the sidewalk trip up the passer-by
Why does Monday take so many hostages every single week?

The street eats the sunshine
The shiny black asphalt draws it in
Exhales heat like
a cigarette smoker blowing smoke rings

At a session hundreds of miles away
the psychic tuned in to your tinfoil hat.
What a powerful insanity you project.

I love the sight
your rainy smile a reflection
in old windows

She’s been reading page one
for eight hours and ten minutes.
I told you she was thorough in all she does.

In a rare forgiving mood
I unpacked the box of stored-up resentments
clean really clean. I counted. It’s empty.

rocketing down the highway on her way home
she’s blowing the day’s exhaustion, noise, and anger
out the tailpipe of her car

Underneath the soil
stamps an army of those who will endure.
Up here we play with fire.

There is the petite woman
you need to talk to. Again.
And not talk down to. Again.

as the streets fall away behind you
you are the faceless driver
in the rear view mirror
of the car miles ahead of you

it was such a modern kind of mistake
we pasted over it so quickly
and we said it didn’t happen

Dirt and gravel creek bed.
Two feet and ten toes
no shoes. Summertime.

The frumpy toenails flailed and struggled
under the pouring bottle of red polish
changed their minds when the compliments started
Now they want glitter, too.

why are the streets so empty and
why are the store windows full of naked mannequins
scornful in pearls?

the evil spores now singing
the choruses of their ardent celebrations
entice us to our doom

chirpy sharp
the red onion brightens my day
I take another bite

your orange fingers
disguised and mischievous
participants in an inky masquerade

dishrags jitterbug, steak knives swoon
soapsuds orchestra juggles dance tunes
the planet resonates with after-dinner wash-up
swing sway strut!

12 thoughts on “Little Vines Week of 12/21/20

  1. This is a wonderful group, Claudia. I could imagine so many stories to go with them. 4533 is so lovely, and others made me chuckle.
    I am that petite woman, and I really was when I was younger.

    • Thank you. I am glad they spark a story or two, that is what I hope for them. Suggest something and let the reader go further into it or around it or however. I am average height, but I’ve been spoken down to, of course, in my life, but a person being short seems to prompt it so much more often and I’ve seen it happen right in front of me. We make so many assumptions and follow them unthinking and unnoticing – I am thinking about this more these days, it seems.

  2. Another fabulous selection. I love 4531 because your words so perfectly capture that sense of heat in the summer. Summer feels like a long time ago right now. Every week has felt like a month this year.

    • I feel the days go by fast, but I am moving in slow motion. The summer I was thinking of in this poem, once again, from a long time ago – when I first started working in the city and went down the street going home in the evening in summer – oh my goodness, a sense of release and tiredness all mixed in with the closeness of the stored up heat from the day…

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