Overheard at Table 3: After Thanksgiving

Wife: Hey, wanted to say thanks for you being so great at Thanksgiving.


Husband:  Didn't do much.


Wife: That's just it!  You let me have some "girl-time" with my cousin I haven't seen in twenty years!  You didn't do what you usually do, like, take over the conversation and make everything about you.


Husband: Glad to help out.


Wife: I can't believe we talked so much!  Wow!  So much to catch up on, she was telling me all about her kids, her husband ... you know, she can't stand him...


Husband:  Really?


Wife: Not at ALL!  They've been married about twenty two years, about as long as we have.  And she says he ruined their trip to Nice - you know, south of France - because he's always so controlling and has to be at specific places at specific times.


Husband:  Hm.


Wife: ... and he's always on her case about how much money she spends, and how they never have money and he is always controlling the checking account and paying bills out of it.


Husband:  Sounds like he's trying to stay on top of things.


Wife: ... and then I realized - she was describing YOU!


Husband: Wifey say what?


Wife: She was describing you.  And I realized I can't stand all those things about you, either.  So controlling.  Never let me do anything at all.  Thinking about just totally pissed me off.  I'm still pissed!


Husband: So, looks like we won't be seeing your cousin for ANOTHER 20 years.

Poem of the Day: Twimberly

Twimberly

We were giddy with anticipation

the day that the new soda shop opened.

We waited outside until the sign hanging in the glass windowed doorway

Turned from CLOSED to OPEN

and we rushed in, all eight of us, raggedy and rapscallion and loud and yelling and

pushing each other and it was grand, and everything was a smile,

and the memory of that day still tastes like root beer and licorice and

cotton candy and I can still feel the cool of the shaved ice that Maurice

smeared across my cheek, and we are all still eight years old,

even as the sun now sets on each of us,

 

in different towns, in different houses,

scattered across the country, separated by the turns of centuries.

 

Yet, even as the last whip of evening orange strips fade,

the voices of ourselves still echo in my ears,

and they always sing me to sleep.

 

 

 

 

MR

2017-1128

Poem of the Day: Defeat, by Walter Brenner

I opened up a book of poetry, Poets of World War II, edited by Harvey Shapiro.
This was the very first poem in the book:

What a reminder of our slow progress.
Are we even now, any better?














Anthology (c) 2003
American Poets Project
Published by the Library of America, New York

Overheard at Booth 3: Annual Review

Meg: He gave me a two on "interpersonal communication" because he said that I'm "too straight-forward" in how I talk to the Project Managers and they don't want to work with me.  I told him that if my boobs were balls, he 'd give me a four for "telling it straight-up with no spin."


Tom: And what did he do then.


Meg: To be honest, it looked like he might have wanted to agree with me, tear up the paper, and start it all over again, but he looked at the HR bitch who was right there, watching him, making sure he towed the company line.  So he just said, "You're lucky that you got the 'two' that you got."


Tom: Sucks.


Meg: No shit.  Boss is a big wuss, but HR is the real evil.  They could do something about it, but never do.  All those bitches just want to push paper, feel superior, and act like they're actually worth their salary.

Overheard at Table Two: nanowrimo

"So I'm in this nanowrimo thing - write a novel in November, and I have to tell you, writing 50,000 words is easy.  That's all they want - 50,000 words, and bam!  you got yourself a novel.  Now, the hard part is writing 50,000 words that make a lick a sense!"


"What you've hit on is that writing is easy, but writing well is difficult."


"EXACTLY!  Damn near impossible, in my case!"

Overheard at Table 4: People on Phones at the Airport

"People in the airport, most of the ones on the phone are on for business.  Business, business, business, these Americans never stop working, or rather, giving the image of working.  Most of these guys aren’t really in the trenches of production, but mainly in arranging, and haranguing, and repeatedly going over and over what should be done and what would have been done and 'well we’ve got to get guys out there' and 'well what should have happened was they should have taken it apart to begin with to measure before deciding just to retrofit'"

Overheard at Table 4: Intimacy at the Edge of Infinity

"Physical intimacy is saying 'I have this body and I sacrifice it for your pleasure.'


"Non-intimacy is when I take your body for my pleasure.


"The act is the same - the way the body parts fit together that is - but the meanings are as far apart as core of the earth to the edge of infinity."

Overread at Table 4: Tuesday Morning POD

A seventh month old baby,
on Sunday morning:
head shattered like a pimple
by a bullet,


and we blather on Twitter
about rights of guns.






MR
2017-1107

Overheard at the Counter: Do you know what you like?

Barista:  Do you know what you like?


Customer: I like big butts and I cannot lie.


Barista:  Yes, but I'm talking about something you could afford.

GO 'STROS!