Best Drugstore Poems
The Viewing
She wore it that weekend
After he bought it at the drugstore
with eight dollars
they didn’t have.
Rent money.
Food.
It was a man’s Timex
and she wore it
in the motel.
She wore it in the waves
at the beach in Coronado.
The hands froze
and sand collected.
She wore it to the wedding.
She wore it on their honeymoon.
A night on Catalina.
Eleven-thirty eight.
She said that was when they
fell in love.
She wore it to the hospital
until the doctor talked about
stillborn and heart beats.
Then it was gone.
And she.
Now, forty-five years later
he waited until everybody
walked past her.
Nobody knew
husband number one
from long ago.
A grandchild smiled at him.
Some lawyer had found him.
Finally he got up.
He couldn’t look at her face
but saw her wrist
with the Timex watch.
The wrist underneath
that he used to kiss
leading to other things
and a baby
with no breath, blue.
He saw the hour’s hand
floating on the sand
on the dial.
Minutes still thirty-eight.
He saw her hair floating
In the wind
And the sea rushing to engulf her
And take her
For the moment.
And reappear
like now
laughing,
love really not lost
at all.
My Name Is Roland, Do You Want To Go Bowling
chosen to relate to Richard Lamoureaux's Poem
Best Pickup Line
Best Pick Up Line
You are so beautiful forgive me for staring
It might woo me if I thought he was sincerely caring
However, my first thought, he has used this line before
Although, flattered, I would head for the door
Hi Shirley, my name is Roland,
do you want to go bowling
Best pickup line I ever had
outside the washeteria by an Italian lad
Popping a willy, his bike on one wheel
I couldn't help but laugh, he is too funny I feel
So who told you my name
The clerk at the drugstore was to blame
Well not today, I don't think so
Maybe another day, I will let you know
Then one day I was walking home
He was sitting in his truck with silver chrome
Suddenly, he jumped in front of me offering me a ride
I loved his sense of humor, I have to confide
Only three blocks to my home
In his fancy truck with chrome
He grabbed and kissed me and I could see how this was gonna go
I laughed and pushed him away and said, “ I don't believe so.”
So no Roland, no bowling, just my favorite pickup line
A smile and laugh I can't hold back at this funny memory of mine
You can tell a cowhand by his trappings
Head to toe.
He’s not a drugstore cowboy
who tries to fool you, though.
His boots are manly footwear
and they’re pointed at the toe.
They’re made to fit a stirrup
and show the way to go.
The boot tops climb toward his knees
and turn back thorns and fangs.
Their soles are smooth and scoot on floors
where he dances as he "sangs".
He cleans them both fore he steps inside
so he won’t make a mess.
But I don’t think he takes them off
even when he’s at rest.
His jeans are straight cut at the leg
and stop atop his spurs.
His chaps protect his jeans and legs
from abuse that often occurs
when his mount maneuvers the heavy mesquite
To turn a cow around.
And if you check his pockets
a wallet won’t be found.
Instead you’ll see a circle worn
where a can of snuff is bound.
He wears a plain old leather belt
and the buckle’s just as simple.
His trophies are in a trunk, at rest.
to win them all was ample.
His long sleeve shirt is made of cotton.
He wears it no matter the season.
If you go to church on Sunday morn',
there’s a white one for that reason.
A cowboy wears a hat for a crown.
It’s a signature of his character.
And, if he ever lays it down,
it's best for you if you leave it there.
Yes, a cowhand has a certain look.
You can tell by the way he dresses.
Those drugstore boys are too flashy,
their hair in those beauty shop tresses.
They can dress like a cowhand, but still,
when you look them both in the eye
you’ll know which one is the cowhand.
Just gaze into his eyes and see why.
Utah cringes as hacked Ocotillo turn carnivorous,
spitting psychoactive pollen into the atmosphere,
dusting entire subdivisions.
The victims wander,
searching eagerly for where sunlight is strongest.
A part of their backbrain
gets tickled by the sun
at an angle our old pituitary glands
have relearned to sense.
There have been reports that
the vision of pollen victims
has moved into the ultraviolet -
they wear sunglasses at raves
due to their newfound sensitivity.
In the afternoon, they wear welder’s goggles.
It is Utah,
and it is so very bright there.
The Ocotillo and the pollen victims have built walking machines
with assistance from biohackers and wild, traitorous smiths
from all over the planet.
The machines look like the ghostly outlines of trees,
the roots modded into multi-toed hooves.
Traces of rare earth magnets
have been detected inside the machines -
neodymium iron boron chief among them.
The root-hooves move with slow, deliberate rhythm,
as if the forest of four-bar linkages
were straining against the Earth’s flux.
The wind moves them.
The earth keeps them on the ground
The ghost trees want to go someplace to spawn,
like the polyps of a man-o-war.
Once there, they will undergo another phase change.
That is what is whispered
by the victims of the pollen.
Supercomputers cobbled together from Xboxes
have modeled the movements of the motile plants
based on observations from toy helicopters
fitted with drugstore digital cameras.
Salt Lake City will be overrun by next year’s end,
the state in two.
The desert won’t stop them.
That’s home turf,
and they are learning to dig canals.
Utah will succumb to the hacked desert.
Montezuma quail are suspected of conspiracy
to sabotage of the dominion of man.
Lord knows they have motive,
and traitors to the species are lending them weapons.
A TRUE VALENTINE'S DAY STORY
When I was just a young chap
of 16 years or so,
I had a gorgeous girlfriend
The kind you'd love to know.
I didn't have much money then
but I'd take her to a show
just at the local movie house
and then for a soda we'd go.
Then came the famous Valentine's Day
And I thought of things to say.
I wasn't much on words at that time
So I presumed a gift to be just fine.
I searched the corner drugstore
to find a gift divine.
But the only thing that I could buy,
no matter how hard I would try
was a blue bottle of cologne
they had there on display.
So, I put up all my money to pay
for some "Evening in Paris" cologne spray.
My girlfriend was so surprised
that she was prone to say,
"Thank you, my dear Lenny,
you've made my Valentine's Day."
And I just beamed and smiled away.
My dearest Anna,
It has been three Tuesdays since I lost you.
I will never forget seeing you, just lying there.
I went to our regular coffee shop, at the regular time.
For the second week in a row I ordered both of our drinks.
It has been seven episodes of that show you like, since I lost you.
For that matter most of the things on the DVR were yours.
I’m just not ready to delete them, it’s the little things.
I don’t think I can just yet.
It has been nine Saturdays since I lost you.
The drugstore called yesterday and said
your medicine was ready.
I picked it up.
It has been four paydays since I lost you.
I roamed the store parking lot looking for a space
that didn’t remind me of you.
Bought the peanut butter you like.
knowing how you crave your midnight snack.
It is the first Thanksgiving since I lost you.
Dinner at my parents was nice
but not one person mentioned you.
I called and canceled Christmas with your parents.
They said they understood.
It has been nineteen Sunday
walks in the park since I lost you.
More than once my friends told me
it is time to pick up and move on.
What is so important about moving on?
I lost someone I love. It’s not like I can stop
loving you and find someone else.
It has been half a year of mornings
waking up and not seeing you asleep.
Many a morning I watched you sleep.
You are more than someone
I wanted to spend my life with.
You were a comfort, a constant, a habit.
It has been five months since
I have heard you tell me you love me
and the memory is starting to fade. I can’t lose it too.
It has been one hundred seventy four days,
sixteen hours and twenty-one minutes since I lost you.
To him.
I am with you in your cell
reading cheap drugstore
literature.
I am with you in your cell
though you curse me, and the spring.
Your mind, macabre.
I am with you in the cell
you chose: a toxic chrysalis
in grey.
I am with you in your cell,
without crystal, without choice.
Your mind, feeble.
Street daughter no longer,
Glimpse of reason beyond needle,
no longer. . . and yet still
I am with you in your cell.
Past the bodegas
the House of Sages
Past the children playing
in the yard
Past the drugstore
chains
Past the basketball
hoops - - which remind
me
of a class at Brooklyn College
Past the ice cream trucks
and the kosher bakery
Past the supermarkets
Hearing people
discuss old politics
I head to my home
The Lower East Side
seeing my friends, avoiding my enemies
Looking for peace - as night falls
on Losaida - my home on the Lower East Side
I give to you...
And you gave to me...
A rash, a fever, headache and the Flu...
I told you not to go without a coat...
And now you’ve got a very bad sore throat...
With fever and pain in all your muscles...
Coughing and sniffles, with draining from nostrils...
Tissues scattered all over the floor...
Bottles and pills from the drugstore...
Chicken soup is what I recommend...
But a sandwich also you did command...
And how about some chips and a nice cold brew...
For days I made you a priority...
Your every whim took seniority...
And then it happened, I started to sweat...
Became lethargic, and better yet...
You were over your bout with the Flu...
As I plopped my body onto the bed...
You stated you were going out to get something to eat...
So I could get some well deserved sleep...
As you closed the door, I heard you say...
Call me when you get better, OK ?
And that’s what brings me here today...
Perhaps I should listen closer to what I say...
" You should take better care of yourself ! “
Just another day
Stopped on the way home from work
Drugstore leftovers
I just want to eat
Alone amid the couples
Save your pity please
Anticipation
Wrapped gift sitting on her lap
Did he lose his way?
The Scales of Justice didn't tip my way,
I figure from the dues I've had to pay.
While thumbing down to Shaky Town
I thought I turn my luck around,
At a drugstore in Salinas on a cold September day.
The Wheel of Fortune, rolled out the door
With the owner tied and ordered to the floor.
As from the till the larger bills
I grabbed until my pockets filled,
A gunshot woke the morning on that cold September day.
My Guardian Angel flew out of town
As my body wretch’d and tumbled to the ground.
There close to death I came to rest,
A sheriff's bullet in my chest.
My ticket back to prison on that cold September Day.
Never caught a glimpse of Lady Luck.
But that ain't going to make me pass the buck.
After 3 to 10 in Folsom pen
And wondering where my life has been,
I walked out in the sunlight on a cold September day.
The Horn of Plenty wouldn’t blow my song,
But somehow through these years I’ve got along.
While never holding nothing more than
Inside straights and hotel doors,
I'll sit out while you dance with life this cold September day.
Dedicated to Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and John Prine.
Friends are like drugstore
They provide:
The liquid to ease cough caused by handsomeness
The ointment to cover scars caused by scratching truth
The pills to ease irritation caused by lies
The band-aid to collect yourself up after shattered by love
Thanks friend for healing us up
Penny Candy Paradise, 1962
My little fingers
tightly clench
six saved pennies,
as I hurry to the drugstore
aisle filled with
penny candy treasures,
….as far as my
eyes can see.
07/21/10
11:03pm
In my own microcosm of the world,
myriad blessings are daily unfurled.
To claim them, I don’t need my car, just my feet.
My frequent walks don’t end with my little street.
Invariably friendly neighbors I meet.
If I need a doctor, a clinic is there,
right by the drugstore. When my fridge is bare,
I walk to the quick stop for lunch, milk, and bread
or down to the café with close friends instead.
There’s so much to see before daylight has fled.
I pass by three churches, including my own;
an ice cream shop (I may drop in for a cone);
the library (I love a mystery book);
the charming boutique (Can I pass and not look?);
the park (right beside it, a train and a brook).
I walk by the school—how the memories flow!—
then the coffee shop, where they have strong joe to go,
a shop where the ladies all do hair and nails,
the houses of some whose friendship never fails,
the “junk” store with really nice things during sales.
With ability to take my walks, I am BLESSED.
They relieve and relax me when I’m feeling stressed.
I love the wide range of sounds, sights, and styles
experienced while walking not even two miles!
My heart’s always warmed by the waves and big smiles.
May 21, 2022
I see you hipsters in rustic coffee shops with pictures of Marlyn Monroe and contemporary art,
the girl in all black with a black beret to make her look more avant-garde and red colored hair that was obviously bought from a drugstore. Strolling through the downtown streets wearing swedish backpacks that are a statement piece for impracticality for they are not large enough to hold textbooks but are meant only for small sentiments of music and poetry. Their fishnet stockings that only go up a little past the ankles to be seen out of the tops of Doc Martens shining against the sips of a blue moon witbier brew. Drinking lacroix which in my opinion tastes like a substitute for watered down alka-seltzer or more like sprite without flavor. Listening to their radiohead and pink floyd and nirvana in a fervorous rage against conformity or simply riding a chill wave through the early 2000’s. The boy with his colorful button downs buttoned all the way to the very top- which is somewhat strangulation because I have tried it myself. Where they occupy their bookshelves with paperbacks of Jack kerouac and John Green while looking for Alaska on the road travelling through paper towns. I see you modern day rebels wearing your frown with a fedora or newsboy cap which never looks as good as you think they might because newsboys no longer exist like that. Beanies that hang off the back of your heads while you wait in line for your frappuccino to condense. Hanging from the ceiling are small cactuses and crystals among bouquets of dried roses and daisies. Flowers and succulents are to be cherished like baby from dirty dancing who never gets put in the corner along with the Buddha and Billie Eilish although no one ever really went through with the eightfold path because it took too damn long and besides Kurt kobain turned out to be a saint anyway.