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Monthly Archives: September 2011

WILLIAM R. FOSTER, JR.

Is it William or Bill?
I don’t know William,
and, I suppose, neither do you.

“William R. Foster, Jr, died on Saturday, August 28, 2010.
Home going service will be at House of Day Funeral Service,
Tuesday, August 31, 2010. Wake hour at 10 a.m. with
funeral hour at 11 a.m.”

I noticed this on the obituary page,
filled with life stories,
only because it’s one paragraph.

A lifetime in 36 words.
It’s not enough.

Perhaps it was written to catch my attention.

I see his mother holding him at birth.
Lovingly naming him for his proud father.
Does he have a wife? Children?
Are his parents now heartbroken?

Who will attend the wake?
Will I?
Probably not.
Will I think of Bill on Tuesday at 10 a.m.?
Probably not.

But, we’re thinking about him now.

L. Humphries
© August 2010

 
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Posted by on September 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

COFFEE HILLBILLY

Of all of society’s down-trodden,
weak,
misinformed,
used,
abused,
confused,
handicapped,
blinded,
disenfranchised,
and helpless,
none is in greater need of a hero,
advocate,
rescuer,
liberator from the shackles of
burden of an unfulfilled existence,
as that of the Coffee Hillbilly.

With Hills Brothers and Mountain Grown,
Green Mountain, Blue Mountain,
Forest Hills, Duncan Hills,
and Land of a Thousand Hills coffee,
you’d think hillbillies would be in the know.
Just ain’t so.
You never microwave,
reheat in the pot,
set in the sun,
or set on the pot in the sun.
If it’s over three hours old,
throw it the fuck out!
Or send it to Osama or Obama,
Kim Jung Il, or old Fidel.
You can even ship it to Al Qaida, the Taliban,
or to Mr. Ahmadinejad if you can.

I like mine black,
no sugar no cream,
strong enough to use as mercury.
If you get close enough to smell it,
you’re gonna want to taste it.
It should lick your tongue,
then kiss your throat
as it works all the way down to that sweet spot.
When done correctly,
it’ll warm you all over,
make your toes curl.

So, put your mullet in a ponytail,
take some pride,
have some standards.
Stop drinkin’ yak piss from
one of those Starbuck thermal cups.
Stop already with the,
“Can I get this nuked?”
No, if it’s too hot now,
I will not put an ice cube in it for you.
Next thing I know,
you’ll want a little umbrella.

Iced? Iced coffee?
Have you completely
lost your fucking mind?

©L.H.
October 7, 2010

 
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Posted by on September 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

GOING HOME

I thought the ride would be bumpier,
shorter than I thought.
All the other passengers were quiet.
The bus smelled of sweat, my sweat,
and something else I couldn’t identify,
fear, maybe.

The day was bright,
sun shining, warm, but not hot.
I didn’t see anyone along the way.
I kept my head down most of the trip.
I knew better than to make eye contact.
I could feel them looking at me.

I’ve been asking myself, “How?”
There was a lot of noise,
rattling, crying, swearing.
The bus stopped,
moved ahead a few feet, then stopped again.
I had to remind myself to breathe.

The engine went silent.
I looked up at the bricks, and wire.
It was, I don’t know, sparkling.
I looked back down
at my chains,
I was home.

L.Humphries
© 2011

 
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Posted by on September 16, 2011 in Uncategorized