A Poem For 111211 in 11 Stanzas
I missed my chance to write with everybody today,
it seemed that my plans had all gone astray.
I had been fooled by a listing on FB
for an annual event that began at 6 in the morning.
The Glitter Sale beckoned for me get there early
as it was even better attended than in previous days
and my nearest friends were near the corner
nearly a whole block away from the entrance.
We tried to keep warm before the doors were opened
and avoid coming to the attention of the Warm Fuzzy.
At last it was 9 and the line began moving, we learned
it was only the first line of many for the morning.
The second line was inside the building winding through
house-wears and that was an additional hour and a half,
before I finally gained access to the Glitter racks along with the
throng who also sought out their treasures here.
It was fully 11 before I found my first scores: there was
A daffodil-colored 60s frock, then a grass-green gown.
My searches revealed many things which intrigued
my eye, but they were made for much smaller beings
or came at a too rich price for my pocketbook.
In the end, I only found one more thing among the dross:
an oddly constructed purple shirt which dared me to alter it
and remove its black elastic half.
Everything else, I either had a close approximation of
or would hurt too much even if I found something to fit.
In my usual hour I had gathered my choices and then waited in a
third line to pay. Another 10 minutes
and then I found out my 3 items cost 66 plus dollars,
but I was on my way at last: 12:15, the time which
I had suggested as the beginning of our writing
for this week, only I was 2 miles walking time away.
It was also raining fairly heavily, it was windy and
the traffic bad and no buses that were of any
help to me were on their way. By the time I attained my goal of
the Richard Hugo House, I was a half-hour late.
When I entered it, there was no evidence that our
group had been there at all, as it was full with a class that had
computers and notebooks at the open
though it was hard to tell if anyone was actually writing.
Since I was cold, wet, tired and quite hungry, I went home, had
lunch, a nap and at last I write my poem.
Was it worth the time and effort I put into getting those
3 items? We shall see, at least I got a poem out of it.
---Purple Mark 11/12/2011
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