Hell

Today I went downtown to explore and visit The Poetry Foundation.  Little did I know, it didn't open until 1 PM today.  The sign on the door said so, but I pulled on the door handle and found out that the door was locked in the good old-fashioned embarrassment that results from pulling on a door that won't open.  Luckily, it was only a couple people who witnessed this through the floor to ceiling windows.

Note to self: stop putting pens in your mouth, it grosses some people out.

And then I met up with one of my friends for lunch, and I got to see the lobby of the office where he works.  This lobby had a gigantic statue that I swear was of a womb with a fetus inside.  This is a testament to how twisted my brain is.  Or how caffeine affects my thought processes.

April 22, 2013

This is what
the real world looks like:
neckties,
conservative shoes,
and pantyhose,
though not worn
by the same people.
ID-checking guards
stand like the three heads
of Cerberus
before the gates of Hell.
Making the El
the River Styx
and the tie-wearers
all the Hell subjects
chained to fire
and brimstone
by so many insubstantial links.
Like a paycheck.
So that makes me Dante,
wary tourist
on this foreign plane,
clutching my Polaroid
in hopes of capturing
some one-time
scene of torture
while the demons leer
at my Converse
standing flat amongst the pumps.

"I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way."

- Robert Frost

Catchin' Up!

Remember that time when I was on time with all my poems and I didn't have to write multiple poems in a single day?  I remember that time, that was a good time...ah, memories.  April 19th isn't getting posted here because no one needs to read that.

April 20, 2013

I remember when you
were this big,
a football held
in my brother's arms
because he always liked kids
more than me.
By the time you were old,
you floated in the lake
buoyed up by a life jacket
while I jumped off the pier.

It astounds me
that I can remember
pushing your stroller
at Lincoln Park Zoo
because today you have a girlfriend
and tell stories about track.


April 21, 2013
(stolen from 101 Things to Do with Ramen Noodles because I mistakenly thought that living with my parents meant that I wouldn't have to eat Ramen anymore)

"Cook noodles in water according to package directions."

Whether or not
your water is
salt or fresh
doesn't ultimately matter.
Drain noodles.
Add sodium packet
for instant death
or immediate increase
in blood pressure
like your father's
when you wake him
from his nap.
If sodium is not
to your taste,
mix in peanut butter.
That works too.
Find the largest bowl
in the house or
eat straight from the pot.

Enjoy.

Biblical Proportions

This morning, I awoke to the sound of water moving around, and my father swearing.  I thought to myself, "Hm, why is Dad in my bathroom?" and rolled over.  Well, until Dad came into my room and turned the light on.  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I plunged my ankles into 3-4 inches of ice cold water.  Good morning to me.

April 18, 2013

When Noah reached the bottom
of his basement stairs,
and his foot felt water,
his slipper drank a gulp
and he said,
"Shit goddamn."
Then the phone rang.

Yo, Noah,

get your family out of there,

I'm flooding this place.

"You couldn't have sent

some warning?"

It was kinda

a last minute decision.

"So you took out

my basement?

My pool table's ruined,

man."

More pool than table,

am-I-right?

...

So Noah hung up

on the heavenly Father

and yelled for the kids

to pick up their things.

The phone rang again:

Oh, and can you round up

two of every animal?

Don't forget the unicorns.

Noah hung up again.

He had other problems.

"The only thing that stops God from sending another flood is that the first one was useless."

- Nicolas Chamfort

Maureen

I went to Starbucks today.  And it seemed to be "strangers talking to Brianna" day, because a woman came all the way up to my table and craned over my laptop to look at me, asking, "Maureen?"  She sounded bashful when she realized that I wasn't her friend Maureen, but she did ask me flat out if I was Maureen before she came to that realization.  I felt bad that I had to tell her no, but I tried to make sure she didn't feel too embarrassed, I thought she was adorable.

So I wrote this silliness.

April 17, 2013

Maureen?
Is that you?
I'm sorry,
it's just that you look
just like my friend Maureen.
She used to have hair
golden blonde
like yours and sunbeams.
And she might have worn
purple glasses
when we were little girls
playing hopscotch all summer.
But the best thing
about Maureen
was how she could sit
smack in the middle
of a crowded room,
open a book
at the marked page,
and disappear.
Just like that.
It was as if she dissolved
into dust motes
or a lost breath.
But I guess you're not her,
she never wore nail polish
in green.

"The funny thing about stop signs is that they're also start signs."

- Maureen Johnson

I Could've Danced All Night...

Last night I went to the writing group at the local library (well, one of the many local libraries), and read my poem "Weeds" which was well received.  The group particularly enjoyed the playfulness.  And a couple folks really liked my reference to RoundUp.

Next month's theme is "foul play" and I fully intend on writing about a chicken's dramatic production.

This is just a little silliness because I was having a conversation with a friend about how I don't, under any circumstances, dance.

April 16, 2013

I don't dance
but if I did,
the shimmy would be
all over the place
and I'd dance like a duck.
If a duck could dance.
Arms flapping in the air,
attempting to catch
some current
and take flight.
Knock-kneed and web-toed,
graceless on land
and swaying
with a hitch of a waddle.
Bobbing and diving,
quacking on the off-beat,
the more graceful swans
gliding with disdain.
I just close my eyes
and duck out.

"It doesn't matter if you're born in a duck yard, so long as you are hatched from a swan's egg!"

- Hans Christian Andersen