Poetry: Pauly's Tall Order

First Published in The Finger Magazine

Pauly's Tall Order

Slick metal skillets meant for sittin’

gettin’ a written numeral name tag

bags of chips, spittin’ dip in empty

pop cans, sort of shimmer

where the silver shines through.

Rows of clothes and don’t they show

the old man was a gander, the lady

of a finer feather, 50 years they spent

together, pleasant weather for disposal

of moldy throws and garden hoses.

Chili dogs that’s fit for Moses

partin’ smoky seas, the burnt bush

of ‘baccer pipes, personal brine

side-linin’ the bigger bidders.

Sunshine or the gossip makes faces

color like tomatoes, flickin’ dollars

from their wrists. One man insists

the 80’s Cadillac out back

is not worth haulin’ out for scrap –

still he pays a couple thousand,

now it’s time to sell the housin’.

After they’ve unpacked the attic

the old home place looks kinda’ sad;

it’s fit for filing dust away

to sit and smell some other day.