Making It Real

Five dollars in my pocket
And a brand new Radiohead
CD on the shelf
This is ripping me.
You said you were
just browsing,
Didn't you?
This is the story of my life
Right here
Wrapped in this plastic,
Resistant, Unrecyclable
Anti-earth friendly
Material.
I want it so bad
I could taste it.
Shoplifting-
I am not a thief
Just hungry
I could lift this right now
Nobody would notice.
The manager is so busy with
Those window displays;
And the kids are doing their best
Gap billboard imitation cover.
I could take a snap shot
It would be perfect.
I'm counting my blessing
As we speak..
one by one,
I'm grateful for my health.
I'm grateful for my health.
I'm grateful for my health.
I'm grateful for my stealth...
But in the end it would all taste sour
Wouldn't it?
So I put things back where they belong;
And I walk out of the store
very sheepishly,
Without thinking about it twice.

© Em Franco


Warehouse

Aroma of newly purchased paperbacks
So full of promise. Crisp and white.
Schoolgirls in tall ponytails,
Held back tight. By pink ribbons or
A faded corsage.
Running home from school.
Saddled with a black leather knapsack
and other useless belongings.

To make their way in;
A quick stop at the local record shop,
To Rediscover.
What we knew all along. Either
We're born to early,
or too late.

© Em Franco


Untitled

Softly I'm beginning to forget
Your face.
I cannot tie the mirror
Or a photograph
With your memory.
Like a pear,
I can taste grains
In my mouth
Long after it is gone.
But I cannot see your face.
You've withered to me.
Like weedstalks in
My garden.
Unkempt, but stays so
Changed-
And sways in the wind.

© Em Franco


Accident

This is how it happened.
Yesterday on my way to work.
I stepped on a dead toad...

Winter's coming.
Have you secured your heart?
These songs that haunt you at night...

Your face came/ in a flash
Unbidden memory.
An electric shock/ of sorts...

Buckley, I will never hear
your voice again. So please play
this one last. Soft, so we can hear

the men cry. You become so small.
A stamp or a xerox copy.
You/I never know when to heal.


© Em Franco

SILENCE

Never gives
anything-
Away
He just leaves-
it all UP
In -
The a i r

© Em Franco

Commentary:

What do I say? How do I say it?
I have no acclaimed words to speak of.
Not much of a bio.
(ordinary)
I'm quite new at this stuff,
(haven't got a clue)
But I just love it.
I can remember the first time I read a "poem"
It wasn't really a poem but more of a song.
I swore, for a minute there I thought I saw an angel wink.
In my experience,
There are few memories worth hanging on to.
And there are plenty worth throwing away.
You stick to the ones you like,
And you write about the other ones;
Under a different name
And claim amnesia.
That's that.
POETRY!
But every now and then,
When walking or seeing a movie,
Upon hearing a record;
Seeing a squirrel doing tricks,
Or a dog stumbling on a bone.
Watching the latest tragedy on the
News or looking out the window,
Just wishing it would rain;
You pause for a moment
You breath in life,
You take a lunch break from your
Somnambulistic trance,
You feel
Something inside of you stir;
And you say to yourself,
There must be poetry here somewhere.

© 2000

Em Franco
Bonfire contributor