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Creating for creation
Making a connection
In education or recreation
Elevation or alleviation
A priest to confess fear, anger, and stresses
A solvent to eradicate the messes
Red light to no; green light to yeses
In a box, it picks the locks
Busts out like a fox
Oohs, awes, wows and shocks
A beast with heightened senses
A master of self-defenses
Slips through all the fences
In past, present, and future tenses
Lickety-split, moves real quick
Takes no shortcuts; uses a few tricks
Watch the clock, and listen to its ticks
Mind the ground; it’s bound to be slick
Stop, stall, stumble, slump, slide, slip
Drop the top and gawk on your road trip
Can’t get to good without driving thru shit
Find lots of misses digging for a hit
Ignites a spark in flooded fire pits
Tired of keeping this kindling lit
About to pull over and call it quits
Press on; toil on
Gamble, ramble, and Calgon
Keep the pros; Chuck Norris bad stuff
Because life is tough, can I get a Sho’nuff?
For this go-round, you only get one shot
Eminem said that, be it truth or not
Creativity is all we got.
Outside of regular classroom interactions and participation in team sports, I was pathetically anti-social in high school. Fairly positive I was confusing Betty Cole for Deidra Cole, another girl from high school only two years younger, I shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Yes,” I said, unable to conjure a mental picture.
Gibbons was glad she hadn’t married that jerk Cole brother, in hindsight. She said that when she had first met John, she thought he was funny.
There was a lull in conversation, and I noticed the lunch rush buzzing around us. We had finished our meals and were now occupying valuable real estate. Our waitress approached and cleared the plates.
“Will this be on one check?”
“Yes,” I said.
She hurried away, and I brought the conversation back to the main task at hand. “So, you still interested in these tickets?”
Before Gibbons could answer, the waitress was back. She set the check on the table and refilled my Coke, though, again, it didn’t need refilling.
I pulled out my wallet and handed my debit card to the waitress. “I’ve got this.”
Gibbons pulled out her wallet. “What? No. Are you sure?”
“Yes, my treat.”
“No. You sure?”
“You can buy next time.”
“Well, okay, and, yes, I want those tickets.”
She pulled out some cash and exchanged it for the tickets as the waitress returned with my debit card.
After I signed the bill, Gibbons and I walked out of The Burger Barn and she told me about the Chicago vacation she had planned with her sons. They were going to see the Cubs and White Sox play, visit museums, take an architecture tour, eat pizza, and now, thanks to me, Adam and Bryant would go to Lollapalooza while she enjoyed a spa day at the hotel.
When asked what John would be doing, Gibbons said. “I haven’t even told him we’re going.”
“He's not going with you?”
“God, no.” She laughed and gave me a big hug. “It was so good to see you. We should do this again some time.”
“I’ve got a cruise then a Spanish immersion slash surfing trip before Chicago with the boys, but after that would be perfect.”
I laughed. “Well, text me whenever, and we’ll pencil it in.”
Gibbons promised to send me pictures from Lollapalooza to post on social media so my mom could comment about how I should bring her back a Bruno Mars autograph as a thank you for the wonderful birthday gift she had given me.
We hugged again before parting ways. I waved and watched her peel out of the parking lot and zip down the street. As I pulled out after her, I thought – the next time Gibbons and I meet, we’ll skip the burgers and go for bourbon instead.
Beatnik Books is part bookstore part poetry venue. Owned by the Mooseville Poet Laureate, Beatnik's is simply a comfortable place to hang out and soak up the written word.
The Mooseville Poet Laureate:
She's been a magic rock dealer, the president of a lawn mowing service, an umpire, a photographer, and a peddler of expensive vacuums. Her responsibilities have included feeding anorexics, wiping the elderly, issuing cigarettes, and keeping an eye on people who see ants crawling all over their shoes. In record time, she's dropped checks, delivered oysters, filled coffee, boxed leftovers, shaken martinis and crafted daiquiris. She can bean count and number crunch, counsel and educate, smooth talk and copy sling. Currently, she's a mother, a daughter, a sister, a lover, a warrior, a poet, a jester, a dreamer, and the leader of her own lip sync band.