Next to the Trailer Park
I got a pamphlet of poems
from Laurel Speer. I always like
her stuff. She’s 70. Has grown daughters.
Brenda and I had two sons. They’re not
in prison. This recession is hard on everyone.
The teevee is a wasteland. I’ve got where
I can barely watch the news. It’s talking points
and silliness. Vampire grannies from outer space.
Sarah Palin, Tea-Baggers. Oprah Winfrey
and Jerry Springer. Next to the trailer park,
life goes on.
I use gas for the cooking. We have a phone,
the Internet. Cable TV but no HBO.
Mullet from a castnet and road-kill chili.
Grits and grunts meets grits and grillades.
A country boy will make do. Brenda works
and I’m a househusband. A beet poet.
A hay-bale garden and backyard chickens.
Borscht, anyone? Chicken and rice?
Chicken and dumplings? A chicken purlieu?
Compare pilau. Pilaf. A mushroom quiche
with home-grown shiitake mushrooms?
Marmalade and biscuits.
Pete Horobin. Apartment Festival.