Three poems by Julian J. Guillermo
For William Carlos Williams
This is just to say
there are no plums
in the produce department.
They are out of season
and those I could find
are sprayed with pesticide,
GMO'ed and spliced
with a mosquito
resistant Peach.
Forgive me
for coveting your icebox,
your relied upon red wheelbarrow
your clean rain and soft chickens
your 1923.
Three Older Women
at the Bus Stop
pushed past
the makeshift turnstile
and heavily into a seat
The one in the front briefly raised her glove
as she said
We'll square up with you tomorrow, baby
Her Southern accent
still holding on
for dear life
amidst the sleet and ice
of Philadelphia.
The driver has no fight
left in him
and if he did, it is reserved for someone
other than these ladies
who are already pulling yarn from their bags,
crocheting on the way home
from the sliding scale medical clinic
on the east side.
My Uncle Asks
for soft tacos
from the gas station
when I call to see
if there's anything
he needs.
He has survived
an open-heart-surgery-
The exclamation point
that punctuates a life
of struggle and poverty.
No fault of his own,
just the hand he was dealt,
like all of us,
your best laid plans
either work, or they don't.
When it's all said and done,
you can kick, scream and cry
or you can accept it all
with grace and maybe a
little bit of class.
When you've finally decided, you can sit down
with your taco
and just enjoy each moment
while it lasts.
Julian James is a factory worker and part-time artist who resides in the rustbelt of Appalachia. He enjoys nature, biking, cooking, painting and travel. He is influenced by the imagists, especially William Carlos Williams, Ford Madox Ford and D.H Lawrence. He also enjoys Carl Sandburg & Dorothy Parker. He can be reached at SecondHandShoes@yahoo.com