As I Remember it

 

The tools of the Housekeeping Department are packed onto rolling carts, rags and towels, buckets and gloves, offensive smelling chemicals and sponges, disinfectants and paper products and yellow, plastic signs announcing slippery floors. 

Meanwhile, at the nurse’s station hang an assortment of clipboards, charts and schedules pinned to the wall and taped to the counter.  Telephones with an array of flashing buttons, pens, pencils and markers jammed into stained coffee cups, with lame slogans printed on them.  There is a half-eaten sandwich on the counter and an empty swivel chair.  Important reminders festooned about on brightly colored Post-it notes.  One wall-clock silently runs its thin, red second hand around and can be seen through the invisible cloud of chaos that hangs in the air. 

Along the polished hallway are the distant voices coming from unseen rooms.  There are abandoned wheelchairs and the sound of important buzzers that seem to go unanswered.  There is a blend of hope and despair wafting through and an occasional ding from the arriving elevator, yet no one steps out.  But that’s good, because the slippery floor sign is still hanging from the housekeeping cart.

 

 

 

Night Watchman

 

To the night watchman the warehouse is never empty.  Every shadow is potentially dangerous.  Every odd sound or noise sends a chill up their spine.  Anything unexplained is something else.  Their shift gets measured in cups of coffee and their hourly checks are made with the reluctance of a trip to the dentist.  The sleeping forklifts seem almost prehistoric, the incessant hum of the office lights sound like bug zappers.  Tall stacks of wooden pallets create eerie shadows across drab safety posters. 

When the first person on the day shift shows up for work, the night watchman can suddenly feel himself breathe again.  Someone else is here, there is another car in the parking lot, another voice, the sound of someone else’s coins falling into the vending machine.  Life is good.  Maybe this afternoon I'll pick up fresh flashlight batteries, just in case, and maybe check the want ads. 

 

 

The Check List

 

Pull up your windsocks
and tighten your laces
the storm coming through
won’t leave any traces,

 

The cows are all nervous
the cat’s at the stoop
Make sure the chickens
are safe in their coop,

 

Bungie the mailbox
anchor the trash
Board up the windows
we don’t want them smashed,

 

Gather up flashlights
place candles around
put a sign on the door
we’ve gone underground,

 

Bring along blankets
and a radio too
Fetch Dad’s tobacco
he’ll want a good chew,

 

Grab up some Band-aids
for flying debris
most important of all
don’t forget me.

 

 

 

Before the Drifting Snow

 

I was like this when I woke up

without a reason why

Overnight I had grown two wings

and somehow I could fly,

 

I started slow, around the room

like I never had before

I couldn’t wait to go outside

to see if I could soar,

 

But what about the neighbors

they’d surely see me there

Not walking with my lawnmower

but flying through the air,

 

Some of them are hunters

Do you think they’d shoot at me

dressed the same as they are

but perched up in a tree,

 

Maybe I’ll just fly at night

they never need to know

And travel south for winter

before the drifting snow.

 

 zc

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can't argue with success

I don’t really choose where on the shelf the nick-nacks go. Just like the wand choosing the wizard, the nick-nacks select where they want to be.  So far, they’ve been right.

  

I Remember

 

Even though so long ago

I remember even now

The scent, the feel, the texture

It was amazing then somehow

 

But something awful happened

A mystery to this day

Bit by bit it disappeared

and then just went away

 

 

 

They say, It is better to have loved and lost...

No!  It's not.

A Talking Onion

 

I yelled into the canyon

that an echo I might hear

Instead, there came a tiny voice

“Hey Mr., look down here.

 

I’m by your shoe

upon the dirt –

if you would be so kind…

 

The farmer’s gathered

all his crops

but left me here behind.”

 

Excuse me Mr. Onion

but I haven’t any choice

You haven’t got a mouth

or lips,

and yet you have a voice.

 

I’m going to put you

in this bag

and carry you to town,

 

For with a talking onion

I’ll be the richest man

around.

 

“Be careful Mr.

don’t back up -

the edge

is just right there.”

but as they both

went over –

their echo filled the air.

 

 

 zc