Tag Archives: value

The Lucky Penny

See a penny pick it up all day long you”ll have good luck
The scheme offering reason for bending to scrape up
What buys absolutely nothing except help on a tax
Today, the first truly hot day of our summer, while
On a well traveled road to buy a lottery ticket
From the convenience store lying at the heart of town
It laid there, dull, green, and bent in on one side, not in half
Like one would suspect pennies to be bent, if at all
This penny curled upon itself; the start of a croissant
Maybe a thumb so worried, anxious; desperate for
Something bad not to occur, or hopeful at least there might
Result from the combined efforts of all that emotion
Transferring in pressure onto this penny from that thumb
Some wish for goodness to unfold or surprise the one
Whose only hope might have been this old well used bent copper
Disc that now not even fits into a slot for coins
Nor can add much value to anyone’s purse or pocket
But at some point in time, I like to imagine that
It gave comfort to another as possibility
This ugly little penny now traveling well with me


Remembered Heartbreak

Heartbreak has no words, just the silent gasps
Of breath filled efforts, pain that will not lapse
The taking of my hand, leading me to places
Never seen nor ever to see in another’s face
Startled waking, your callous disregard
Coolness of words used so not to afford
Value in feelings assumed to have shared
Mingling at passion’s door, should not have dared
One must choose remnants left there on the ground
Claw not at what could have beens
Pick up memories, twist away, take leave
Journey to the next and never be bound
In singleminded aloneness now free

The Thing About Wal-Mart Is…

Walking across its grimy parking lot I always question
The morality of my decision in shopping in this mega
Store of undervalued everything and everyone too
Although every sign states in royal blue, Great Value
Born as the doors slide open is my experience in awkward
Pulling my cart free from behind the plastic vertical blinds
Always being welcomed by the sadness of a stranger who
Sits and stares through and past me while greeting in rote

This place where the poor look over-fed and the well off
Read the labels and check their iPhones for a possible
Better deal down the road at Target, cleaner and no
Host or hostess whose good afternoon fuels the guilt of
Always looking for the best deal in town, the blue light
Special no longer a strategy but an existence in bulk
And prices so low making jobs scarce everywhere but
China, where freedom, fairness, choice are shackled in red

Rushing through the aisles, looking the other way, as
The smell of poverty approaches and in an ear piercing
Hiss, Shut-Up! words from a woman punch into a boy,
Five, maybe six, who chirps, pointing at Skippy, a giant jar of
Peanut butter, and the words from his mother momentarily
Halting his joy, his bouncing, his excitement in these aisles
Abundantly lined, the hole in her thin white skirt evidence
Of stress no Walton or their shareholders will ever know

The check outs magically congestion free, there she is
Linda, the cashier who does not start a conversation and bags
My purchases in mechanized perfection her strategy fast
Unflawed and appreciated as the man behind me jokes
In familiarity with her, You must work every Sunday
Yep, I go to church then here, unless I’m dead which I
Was three weeks ago, my first Sunday off in months, she
States, frustrated stubbornness appealing to my democratic nature

Uninvited into the jocular exchange, I inquire did they recognize
Your voice when you called in dead? Oh yeah, she says, I got
Written up and told I’d better not do that again or I’d be canned!
We can’t call in sick or we are fired, so I called in that I was dead
They said you can’t do that again until July 28th to which she replied
Well, count on me calling in dead again then, the man and I laugh
I specifically look for you, and they would be stupid to fire you, I state
They will lose their best cashier and I plan to call and tell someone

All the Sunday employees, all the Sunday shoppers, and the rich
And powerful take it easy, freedom to enjoy choices in luxury
Not eating from oversized jars of anything to save pennies
Their need and greed for more and more, God only knows!
How much more poverty must they create pretending to be
Its benefactor when a cashier can’t even call in sick
“1-800-Walmart, honey. Give em a call!” But it is Sunday, the
Offices are closed. The Great Value only extends so far I suppose