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On Main Street

The Five and Ten Cent opened

Its doors to a

 

Street where ladies

In gloves and smart,

Tailored suits pushed

 

Prams and a tiny girl

Shoplifted seven copies

Of the same Little

 

Golden Book. Cats

Who Paint or a

Pokey Little Puppy

Out of sorts.

 

In the supply aisle

The girl knew,

Somewhere down,

 

That one day she’d

Conduct a classroom

Or a typewriter.

 

Or just maybe both.

They bought plastic

Soldiers with parachutes

 

More flimsy than

The ones her father

Used when he jumped

 

From planes in the sky.

Airborne Ranger.

And Airheads

And rubber balls.

 

 

Poem #7 of the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

 

I am also reading Robert Bly’s  Morning Poems as I revisit the poems in this project and am finding it interesting to imagine and analyze the inspirations he found each morning as he wrote, as his project was one of my key inspirations. Today I read “Bad People,” which seems particularly relevant at the moment. Do we need bad people the way we need claws? Do they free us from our laziness into action?

Goodreads

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