Stanley McFarland here. Headley’s
working on another novel, and he must be getting pretty desperate
because he asked me for post material. I told him I have a couple
poems. He just grunted and waved his arm in the universal gesture
of, ‘yeah, go ahead, I’m beyond caring.’
Headley is so good for my self
esteem. Anyway, here are the poems:
"Young"
Teacher's Lament
by Stanley McFarland
When I started
teaching, it was a lark
I was only playing grown-up
Barely older than my students
When kids I taught got married, I
could deal
They were in High School when I
got them
I could pass for twenty-something
When my students had kids, that
wasn't too bad
They were babies having babies
I was still on the right side of
forty
When I started teaching my
student’s kids, I remained calm
Fifty is the new thirty
I still had most of my teeth
Now the kids I
taught are becoming grandparents and I'm wondering
No... I'm not wondering...
I'm old.
Sparkly Dreams
by Stanley McFarland
Little boy, squirming
at church.
His mother talks to the
people behind.
How old are you?
You're five?
He's five too!
And his mother is
pointing at him.
Now the little boy
turns to look
To see the other boy
that's five.
But it isn't a boy
It's a girl
A girl with blonde hair
like a Disney princess.
She's even sparkly
Like she's wearing
pixie dust
Little boy, squirming
at church
What's she doing now?
he wonders
But he can't turn
around
She can look at him
If she wants
She can see him
squirming
Or the stupid place on
the back of his head
Where his Mom pats down
after she licks her hand
But he can't look at
her.
Though he wants to
He wants to look at her
eyes, like the new bike at Walmart
He asked Mom for
When you're older, she
said
Little boy squirming at
church
The adults are standing
and Dad picks him up
The girl is sparkling
in the sunlight
She's in her dad's arms
But her dad is so tall
She kisses her very
tall dad
She looks up and
around, everywhere
And everyone she looks
at smiles
But she doesn't look at
the boy
She’s
too high
And the boy learns that
the sparkliest things
Are unreachable dreams
A lesson he never
unlearns
How
7-11 Profits from Self Awareness
by
Stanley McFarland
Yo, Dude, Wanna go down to the 7-11 and get a slurpie?
No thanks, I’m too busy losing hope.
Huh?
You know, working through a meaningless existence and plugging away
at irrational tasks to prolong my parasitical gnawing at the great
cheese ball of life.
Oh.
I’m shooting for the protagonist role in an existential novel.
That would be nice.
Unfortunately, existential literature has been out of vogue for forty
of fifty years.
Bummer.
Yeah.
So… slurpie, then?
Sure, I’ll drive.
Here's one of my favorite TV characters. Rest in peace, Andy Kaufman.
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