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Days before a full moon

September 14, 2008 By pia

This week’s gone by in a whirl of feverish unproductive activity or not. It was sad. It was scary. I hope to never see another one like it. I have been spending evenings and/or nights with friends and when alone find myself looking for any escapist TV show I can find. Though I did succumb to Anderson Cooper for about ten minutes last night

The closing was scheduled for 10/1. Then 11/2. Now it’s someday between 9/24 and 10/7. I just hope that it happens.

I have noticed that New Yorker’s think this economic crisis is all about us and nobody else in America. When they speak dispargingly of the Wal Mart customer who wouldn’t know a stock from bond, they’re speaking of me, kind of, and I do resent the stupid superiority of the New Yorker
¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶

Trainman te_ts; people die
Brokerages fail; people lose all
Companies lay off; dreams shatter
Inflation happens

Couple make love, staring
at glass near cathedral
ceiling

The reflection used to satisfy
egos without limits

Unopened mail, torrents of it
await in
foyer; laptops filled with accounts, negative
balances

Lovemaking completed or she thinks never
really took place; faster and faster–PLONK

Did they ever really love each other? Both try
to remember.

Tomorrow bank will take back penthouse loft
They will drive in brother’s car to
her mother’s shabby not chic dusty beach town
rented house.

No longer have leased Le_uses, large beach house.
Furniture gone via Craig’s List. Debtor with
huge hands takes money

fifteen years ago, they had nothing but dreams and credit
Built business an illusion; sold dreams and delusions

Some day soon after tomorrow a motel maid will open
door scream faint upon discovering their bloated bodies

He really hated her mother.

Did she truly have to rub it in, in her piddling talk about
the wonders of
compound interest?

My apologizes to people who really can write poetry. I like it. It doesn’t like me

Filed Under: Uncategorized

« False Beauty; real beauty: Or; Plans? You still believe in plans and planning? Silly goose you
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Comments

  1. paisley says

    September 14, 2008 at 8:30 pm

    the beauty of poetry,, is that it is the skeleton of that which dwells inside you… this was very well done,, believe it or not.. i liked the fact that so much hopelessness culminated in the hatred for her mother… someone always ends up getting the brunt don’t they??? i wonder how often they truly deserve it…

  2. sage says

    September 14, 2008 at 9:59 pm

    I shuttered when I read of the hotel maid–as I had a friend who checked out that way 2 years ago November–you create almost a morality tale with very strong images–it’s powerful

  3. Bone says

    September 18, 2008 at 10:08 pm

    I’m sure they’re referring to the “other” Wal-Mart customers, not you and me 🙂

    I wonder why bad news, disaster, and times of uncertainty causes people to want to make love.

  4. G says

    September 20, 2008 at 11:59 pm

    I really don’t think any apologies are necessary. Helluva week. Good luck with the pending closing.

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About Me

I live in the South, not South Florida, a few blocks from the ocean, and two blocks from the main street. It's called Main Street. Amazes me too.

I'm from New York. I mostly lived in the Mid-Upper East Side, and the heart of the Upper West Side. It amazes me when people talk about how scared they were of Times Square in the 1970's and 1980's.

As my mother said: "know the streets, look out and you'll be fine."

What was scary was the invasion of the crack dens into "good buildings in good 'hoods." And the greedy landlords who did everything they could to get good tenants out of buildings.

I'm a Long Island girl, and proud of it now.
Then I hated everything about the suburbs. Yet somehow I lived in a few great Long Island Sound towns after high school.

Go to archives "August 2004" if you want to begin with the first posts.

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