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Ben Jorgensen Poem
Ode to Holden Caulfield
I'm not even going to mention that term you scattered so ubiquitously throughout your memoir
It's pretentious to bring it up, like I'm trying to prove something
I mean, why would anyone who claims to be a so-called devotee fall into the trap of perpetuating the hypocrisy you so profusely railed against
Your fierce, but misplaced and naive attempts at integrity fall short everywhere … but in that field … and on the edge of that cliff
f
f
That is where you find yourself and your genuine purpose
You save the innocent from corruption
That is a noble cause
That is where,
despite your upbringing and your awkward attempts at acculturation,
you find an escape
That is where,
despite your prodigious flaws and your insolence to all that is holy,
you find redemption
OK. I'll say it – Everyone is a phony. But the real phonies are the ones who don't even know it
Like Stradlater in the back of Ed Banky's car
Copyright © Ben Jorgensen | Year Posted 2016
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Ben Jorgensen Poem
Pallets, Jacks, and the Soft Sounds of the 70's
OR
My Summer Summed Up Summarily for a Small Sum
A constant beeping chirp echoes through the warehouse, strangely comforting the workers who walk these aisles and habitually straighten shelves and relocate displays like worker ants with no aim, no direction, save a blind duty to an ambiguous corporate goal
And somewhere on aisle 12, a man is looking for a pipe fitting for a third bathroom he doesn't need; unaware that the part he actually does need is waiting patiently on aisle 33
And the soft sounds of the 70's hover over the warehouse
Up on a ladder on aisle 50, an associate is pulling down a box of "product" for a customer intending to murder small rodents (the poison debris scattered about in the aisle does not seem to bother anyone)
And the soft sounds of the 70's waft through the breakroom
Roberto has been coming in at 5 am every morning for the last 13 years to sweep these aisles; his broom seems to move independently, acutely aware of the efficient pattern established, and the constant ache in his lower spine
And the soft sounds of the 70's breathe through the garden center
Over in the lumber aisles, a contractor inexplicably named Joe eyes a stack of 2x6's for his latest job
Business has been slow lately and he needs the work (and little Maggie needs school clothes again)
And the soft sounds of the 70’s echo in and out of the hardware section
Sally at the Pro-Desk is friendly, energetic, and drives a forklift better than any man on the premises
She may have been a waitress at hole-in-the-wall diner years ago, but she wears her blue-collar persona comfortably, like a lab coat
She knows what she knows
And the soft sounds of the 70’s slide into the sub consciousness of every associate swimming slowly upstream
"This was not my first career choice" grumbles Doug in Hardware as he hangs tool belts on aisle 14
A career in oil exploration took him to South America for 15 years until it brought him back to the states, with a promise of management infused income
A recession hit and that promise shattered, along with financial stability and steady work
Those who wear the orange apron as they roam these aisles and march to the soothing sounds of the 70's are cryptically connected by the mantra of "let's get moving", but many long for pasts when futures seemed brighter and a time when the apron no longer feels like a yoke, hanging on the blue-collared necks of the middle America.
Copyright © Ben Jorgensen | Year Posted 2016
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Ben Jorgensen Poem
Electioneering
Somewhere in the mind of America is the simmering consciousness of legislative morality… where the politicians and rhetoricians are more than magical magicians
I see you America, with your brains spinning and your eyes rolling
Fingers wagging in blame game naming and shaming
Hypocrisy is your middle name in misled Middle America where the Middle Class is lost in the shuffle of meddling rhetoric spewed by mewed misanthropic women and men in new pants and suits and suitpants
I see you looking out to the horizon, heading for the future and looking for the past on a TV screen where extreme left and extreme right don’t battle for Middle America…
– where Americans meet in the middle and talk sense to each other –
…they battle for radical ideologies that alienate the middle and satisfy the fringe who binge on the ‘beautiful’ chaos of the moment and the month and the electioneering year
Stump speeches, primaries, media polls, emails, and end goals – what does it mean?
Was it Goethe who told us to “speak a few reasonable words” every day? Do we hear them? When America takes his advice it may be too late – It is too late – Is it too late? Too late to satiate and placate the masses of Middle America?
Electioneering in an election year; engineering for a future too near…
Copyright © Ben Jorgensen | Year Posted 2016
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