Sunday, October 7, 2018

Party later at Mom's house - Poem: Shopping at the Giant - Walking the Pennypack Trail

Did my shopping for the party and picked up Shrimp Egg Rolls, Sweet n Sour Chicken, two salads - fruit salad - oh, is my mouf watering! - and other kinds.

The back seat of my car is stuffed with cartons filled with food n snax - and anudder box to get things from Rydal Park, Helene's former home. I'll meet for the first time her nephew Jerry, who takes c/o her.

I don't have direx to Rydal Park but methinks it's on the way to Quest Diagnostics.

At Giant, Jack the Produce Man, gave me a sample of fresh OJ.

Hmmm, Maybe I can write my daily poem on that! See below.

Image result for pavarotti

Nessun Dorma

I had the major good fortune
last night of being wide awake
as Puccini's Turandot performed
at the foot of my bed.

To what can I compare the performance stage?
A stadium, perhaps, of luxuriously costumed
Chinese, for it's in China where Turandot lives.

It's time for her to wed but quite a fussy woman
is she. She's created three riddles. If her suitor
- and there are hundreds - doesn't answer corrrectly,
Off comes his head.

Suddenly the words of the famous "Nessun Dorma"
- "none shall sleep" - dance like the Mark Morris
Dance Group across my private stage.

I stand aloft feeling the electric pull
from my TV set. It could be Pavarotti
or Bocelli or Placido Domingo.

Who can sleep after this.
None shall sleep.
The curtains fall.
The audience stands
at attention, entranced,
shaken, and changed
for one eventful evening.



The asphalt in the parking lot
had dried smooth as tapioca pudding.

I marched in with my cart, everyone
in a rush, my shopping list
secure in the pocket of my
striped pink shorts.

We were having a party at Mom's
and me, the first-born, was chosen
to buy the food.

Chinese would be the centerpiece.
The food kiosks were just opening.
I filled up 8 plastic see-thru
cartons with food - salads with every
micronutrient you can think of, thanks
to the wrath of Dr Fuhrman.

Helen prepared fresh Chinese food for us
which smells up the back seat
of my car.

Dessert? Fruit.

Later today it's off to Rydal Park
Helene's former home to glean like
Naomi forgotten items. That woman
loves scarves, as most artists - and
therapists - do.

Not me. It's her dishes I'd like and
her coffee mugs. Why? To remind
me of her home on Bauman Drive.

C'mon over, she'd say, and don't
be late. The Davey Ire Pancakes
are going in the oven right now.


Image result for davey ire pancakes



We followed the trail
All weeds are good
Milkweed had blown away
furthering the thousand-
mile journey
of monarch butterflies
Walking through spider webs
Tree roots
Huge unsuspecting turkeys spreading their wings
Startlingly orange persimmons that pucker your mouth

Black walnuts that stain the trail
the Native Americans used them for dye

A tall hill taunted me
In my sneakers I clumb up
never to fall

All this after a belly-
ballooning meal at
The Willow Inn. We asked
the blonde waitress about its history.

Once it was a cathouse, just
like when I lived in Texas,
and shopped at the H.E.B
in LaGrange, best little
whorehouse in Texas.
ZZ Top made it famous in
La Grange.

Too late now for Brett to
find a nice lady there.



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