Can napkins not esteem or honour
a history of being placed gently on laps
to catch, take hold of,
what is carelessly spilled or dropped,
used then to pat lips
before being rumpled tenderly, after eating,
and placed carefully at one's side?
At a table in a bar,
a paper napkin on my lap,
I look at friends:
they have their napkins
sitting at the sides of their plates,
on that table, folded, ignored, untouched.
Is there something wrong with me?
(11 Dec 2023)
A million lovers lines, unread on clever napkins
The only kisses felt when a wiped face happens
When I think of you, with tears streaming down my face
It's because no one in this life or the next could ever take your place
When a picture of you is all that, I have to remember
How sweet your cheek feels and where my hand used to surrender
They say you're in a better place now
I find it hard to believe and don't see how
Paper napkins and plastic straws
Ex-lax was a laxative I recall
Bananas with black seeds
Young folks saying please
Things just seem to disappear
Phone booths everywhere
Merry Christmas said with cheer
That corner fireworks stand
Frying with lard from a tin can
Things just seem to disappear
Neighbors who are friends
Promise kept by politicians
News that actually informed
Soft white bread wasn't scorn
Things just seem to disappear
Butter-Nut candy bars
When we believed life was on Mars
We used to land men on the moon
California once had too much room...
Paper napkins and plastic straws.
Need paper day and night,
nervous if out of sight,
normally you stock up,
not today out of luck,
nature makes frantic call,
no time to sit and bawl,
napkins is next of kin.
4-30-17
I'm shuffling trays of food
and placing them up front.
I'm spilling on the way
in stains I'll later hunt.
I'm ever pinching napkins
and wiping spots of sauce.
Forever wiping up them
so later I can toss.
I've piled the garbage higher
with sweet and sour rags.
Left scrunched into a bow
to finish them of drags.
I'll order in more napkins
to later fill the rack.
But first I'll make some more sauce.
A dish from Sally Trac.
She pressed on tightly
Gripping her cloth
Dusting all the dark
Arranging all the packages
She clutched at the years
At all the stillborn frozen dinners
Half parasitic blood
She shrieked at allowance
Thinking she could control
A golden son she never knew
Still, with her napkin
She went to wipe his face
Which had changed considerably
Though she clutched the image of her baby
Deathly afraid of loss
Clinging terribly to sullied napkins
Though for no apparent reason
Plastic ware is fine
Favorite restaurant to dine
Hickory smoked swine
Box-tops, Napkins, Paper, and Old Mail…
One thing for sure, listen, will you please?
I do not write on tissue paper… sneeze!
But write upon most anything… Not walls!
My pen or pencil marks fulfilled flow falls.
And anyplace will do to write away.
In the moment inspiration comes to play,
Revealing ever-poignant thoughts, words spanned.
Whatever spark or flow falls to my hand.
I shall not allow fleeting words their loss.
Instead, must capture never-ending gloss.
Then, send a message to someone somewhere.
And dream, two hearts, shall wisdom share with flare.
Soon, Microsoft displays those words that streamed
Computer poet is what I am; oh, dream!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 13, 2010
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