PONY CARS
A new day. A new postcard. “Dear Elaine,” she writes. “Okay. First thing. These sirens. Outside my window. Sirens. More than one. Screaming, screaming. For 30 minutes now. No kidding. Continuous. They are. No break in their wail. And it makes me wonder, wonder. What is it? Maybe an accident. With a pony car. You know the ones. On Tucker Road. The cars that zoom up behind you. At 90 mph. At least. Maybe faster. Probably. Faster. I mean. Suddenly. There they are. Filling my rearview mirror. Like bad news. Like demons. That’s what they are. Coming to devour my car. Or me. As I drive the speed limit. Always. On Tucker Road. And then, and then. They’re gone. Racing past me. To fill the rearview mirror of someone else. To give them a chill. Or worse. And those sirens. Still wailing. So many. What’s happening? I wonder, wonder. Who knows? But this I do know. Pony cars. Not my thing. Not me. No ponies for me. No. Not my car. Not with Holly. A pup car. That’s my car. Holly next to me. Buckled in her doggie car seat. Singing. Yes, we do. Often. Driving the speed limit. Down Tucker Road. And those sirens. Still wailing. Outside my window. Screaming, screaming. But not for us.”
LITTLE
“Dear Elaine,” she writes. “Saturday morning. Blue skies. Freezing temps. Bright sunshine. It’s grocery shopping day. And oh how I love. The little shopping carts. At Food Lion. So easy to maneuver. Yes. Easy is good. Down one aisle. I go. And then another. Apples, pears, bananas. Salad greens. Canned vegetables. Potato chips. All of that. I toss in my cart. And then, and then. I stop. At the pet food aisle. Dog treats. That’s what I need. But look at them. Look! So many. Too many. No way to choose. Even if I linger, linger. To study them. To read each label. Even then. I can’t decide. So I grab the prettiest package. And run. Thank goodness for Holly. Have mercy on me, I tell her. Have mercy. And she does. She eats them all. Every time. Such a good dog. She is. Yes. And little too. Like my shopping bags. The ones I bring from home. My little bags. Colorful. Decorative. Perfect for little shopping carts. The cashier rings up my groceries. And we chat. I know him. Nice guy. But then, but then. The lady behind me in line. She asks about my bags. Are they gift bags? No. They aren’t. She thinks my little bags are weird. No. They aren’t. But then, but then. She turns. To the man behind her. What does he think? About my bags. (Seriously?) Poor woman. What can you say? Some people really need a dog.”
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Our thanks to Laura Stamps for her puppy prose-poems today, with more postcards from her loquacious friend to the fictitious “Elaine”.
A reminder that Dave Boles and other poets will be reading at Childhood Stories, presented by Sacramento Storytellers Guild this afternoon, Sac. Poetry Center, 2pm. Dave Boles has sent out a call for submissions for the 2023 edition of the Sacramento anthology, VOICES, so check that out while you’re looking at UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS.
Then at 4pm, Gary Kruse and Brad Buchanan (plus open mic) will be reading for Sacramento Poetry Alliance at 1160 Perkins Way, Sacramento, CA. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
_______________________
—Medusa
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
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