Found in the Floorboards.

My art teacher once made us do a "found art" project. Mine was a shoebox painted black on the inside with a white candle. I flipped the thing upside down. It did not mean anything. I'm sure I said it did so I could get the points. Here are some found poems from years ago. Found in the floorboards of my computer. Maybe a bit dusty and outdated. Meaningful? Somewhat. Worthy to be shared? Sure. Why not?

(All of these poems are semi-food themed).

Untitled Stew.

she bit off a hunk of the meat

before delving into the carrot stew

and the other people at the table

glanced at her curiously, but quickly

for they did not want to seem surprised.

9-10-06 Happenings in the Flathead

My dad and I camped at Bowman Lake last night up the North Fork. A twenty some mile road, the majority on washboard gravel roads. Read Brautigan’s “Tokyo-Montana Express” by the lake until I started getting attacked by killer mosquitoes. We hiked up to Numa lookout about 6 miles up and a pretty decent view in a burned area. Then drove back on a different washboard gravel road to Coram and ate at a restaurant attached to a gas station that was not a truck stop. 

Our waitress was working dinner alone and she had bottle black hair and a missing front tooth. She was heavy-set with a halter top and glitter on her chest. She was far from personable, but efficient. I guessed her name was “Cherry” or some other food-sounding name, but she signed the ticket “Bobby Jo.” It fit perfectly. I liked her immediately though she was rude to all the customers. Her boyfriend’s name was Darryl (because she talked to him briefly on the phone) and I figure he is bad news and so she has all the reasons in the world to be rude to a few folks, even if they have nothing to do with her life except to order meaty stew or a slice of huckleberry-strawberry pie and stale decaf. They didn’t even know her boyfriend’s name was Darryl.

Later.

I’m sitting in an orange rocking chair that leans too far back for comfort. A mouse is caught in the rat trap but I have a weak stomach when it comes to small rodents so I’ll let my dad deal with it. We are listening to an Allison Krauss mix. My dad is now throwing out the mouse that got stuck in the rat trap and he is wearing Old Navy sandals that I bought for a dollar and are three or four sizes too big for me. I need a shower. There are half-consumed pockets and boxes of decon lying throughout the cabin, set erratically behind couches and in empty cabinets. 

dinner, alone. 

gave up a good friend

for a fruit smoothie and whipped cream dinner

alone.

because, well, that is easier

to fall in love with the cream in my throat

and the strawberry syrup.

the aftertaste can be cured

with wintergreen gum. and there is

nothing pretentious about

renting art films

if you don’t pretend

you really understand them.

(nothing worse than analyzing

a good story).

or a doomed romantic relationship

that overshadows the “rest of”

reality.

the good friends ask

for advice

they know I can’t give.

mockingly, almost.

the truth is, I’m bored.

bored of being called

“young” by twenty-eight

year olds.

a medium strawberry-banana,

please.

bored of assumptions.

“You’ll find the right person,

someday.”

“You’ll find Jesus.”

Here’s news:

I’m not looking.

with whipped cream!

when you “grow up”

you’ll have a house and

cook for a husband and

children and cats.

but once they realize

all of their meals consist

of syrup and cream,

or microwave-heated peas…

you will end up eating

dinner, alone.

and then you will realize,

hey,

this isn’t so bad.