He is a cricker, I was told when I got to Kirksville, Missouri.
What is a cricker?
“They might be crickers, but at least they ain’t sheet-crickers”.
There is laughter all over the place. Now I am truly confused.
A cricker and sheet-crickers. Are they people dressed as ghosts?
Dancing in a summer meadow with the crickets?
I ask, and there is more laughter. It’s a private joke.
Not for outsiders, and I am new in town.
Anyone who is not sixteenth-generation-born is new
In Kirksville, Missouri.
It took me years to ascertain that crickers means creekers
Creekers are people who live beside a creek.
Sheet-crickers are people who live beside sewage.
They can kick sheet with their boots from the outhouse
It also means hillbilly and redneck, only more demoralizing.
Like a burst of confetti
They erupt into the corner store.
Tanned, long legged,
Laughing and pushing each other.
They toss their sun-bleached hair
And glance around to see
If people are watching.
Beach outfits – bikinis
Barely hidden under short
Skimpy coverups.
Sandals, high platform heels,
Gold or red or raffia
With sparkly decorations.
They find the cold soda case
And finally each picks out
Some favorite drink.
They giggle. One fixes
The strap on another’s sandal.
They shove each other
And double over into
Gales of laughter
Over some private joke.
Still giggling, they make their way
To the cashier, pay for their drinks,
And explode into the street
The same way they came in.
Fragments of life.
Fragment of occasions.
Fragment of the past.
Fragment of the present.
Fragment of tears.
Fragment of conversations.
The fun and the pains.
The private joke and laughter.
The suspense of life.
The private torment.
The signature of who we are,
are the image of our fragments.
~ David Cassidy ~
Sharing a room with my sister
David was plastered over each and every wall
It's a wonder she'd never got a paper cut or blister
From all the posters she did lovingly install.
David watched me as I fell asleep each night
Smiled at me each morning when I awoke
My sister claimed him hers, citing love at first sight
He would one day be my brother, became our private joke.
When I started dating, in David I would secretly confide
He told me find a good one for "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do"
To "Strengthen My Love" and look far and wide
Stressing that "Love Is All I Ever Needed" to get me through.
Our David from the soup tells me pretty much the same
His words of comfort and wisdom helped me in times of need
I consider him my Bro, even though we don't have the same last name
No one can ask for a better friend and poet, he is the best indeed!
So Bro, "Ain't No Sunshine" when you're gone
Our prayers are with you and your wife
Have faith and hope as each new day does dawn
That this is just a temporary bump in the road of life.
With love, your Sis
Contest ~ DAVIDS FOR DAVID
My revolutionary heart smiled at its private joke:
“The poor can’t eat the rich because they’d gag and they’d choke
On toxins like guilt, cynism and greed,
Prozac and Botox – not quite what the poor need.”
But, the above-mentioned attitudes, I hear you demur,
Are found just as commonly amongst the poor.
Yes, I retort, it’s just as you say –
But they have better reasons to feel that way.
For those with soft beds, their futures assured,
Their needs taken care of, their investments secured,
No wolves near their doors, their faces unlined -
Surely these ones can simply afford to be kind?
For the poor each gesture has a real cost –
A loaf of bread given may mean a meal lost,
But the rich can donatecratefuls, it takes no nerve,
It is only a snack, a missed hors’d’oevre!