A still-life Poem.
Take an ordinary object in your home, perhaps your favorite coffee mug. Spend some time studying that object—does it fit in your hand? feel cool or smooth to the touch? What’s the daily journey of that object?
i will do this … i pray i’ll find the object under surveillance dreams, or even desires … tony
Yeah, I’m struggling with this one a bit. Finally found a plastic sundae that may figure in…
It took me most of the day to finally germinate the nugget of a poem. What’s more ordinary than “Dirt and Grit?” Okay, the dirt and grit was an accident at first—things started here with a plastic ice cream sundae display I saw yesterday combined with a hand brush in my bathroom today. Nothing is ever quite as I would plan.
Red Leatherette Booth
In the diner, resting in the center
of the plastic molds designed to
entice, a sundae, fudge dribbling
down, pecans shiny, crevasses
collecting dust and grit. My mind
is smoothly still magenta skies
trapped in a red leatherette booth.
Later, the bristles of the brush
softly scrub against the skin of my
fingers, moves dust and grit back
and forth around my cuticles,
under my nails. I splash water up
onto the mirror and I blink purple
tears of mascara onto gray
granite countertops.
The particle board frame painted
matte black needs dusting, grit
marring his face through the glass,
though I can see his teeth smiling
through my reflection, expression
saffron joy despite cracks in the
leatherette booth behind him
while he eats some ice cream treat.
april pameticky 
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