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main street

December 2, 2007

dedication

I’m sure I’m missing
something
because of that
roaming flower guy,
so to him

i
RA.T

i bought your
stamps of the alphabet
through which i make
smearing inkblots
on light coloured items

but without punctuation
i am limited to
titles and labels and
poems
and run on sentences
and the like

forgive me my
limitations

ii.
$3.99

It’s really hard to make
a bad grilled cheese.
Perhaps that’s why
you’re still here,
or I am.

My mother (in-law)
remembers a time, on
this street, when you
were something more,
now

Handwritten Histories
enact among the dusted
clutter:
stonehenge fragments,
flying saucers, fridge
magnets

but, most importantly

fried bread and cheese.

iii.
mid-main

The street
has health concerns.
I myself have three thyroid
cysts and a fetus.

The body is a
community event,
a mother’s group, a
support line, a
vaccination clinic.

Plus a mother of a mural.

I’m sitting in the same
chair as last time, but
the smell is different.

(or maybe it’s just me)

iv.
#3 bus stop,
in front of gas station

comrade, disbarred
studying
the rollercoasting
manual
diminutive, high-rising
slow
walking
funeral pro,
pensive, ex
cream of the
crowd, concrete
scicles.

My body wants to buy something.
My body wants a veggie dog.
My body wants out of the cold.
My body wants a hug.

The next stop is
geometric
box, shaped
rectangular prism
square pyramid
pistolary, e.      go

jump on the
changing, clanging
river of hype, maker

takin’ back the mean
middle, meridian
mmm
[um]

fade to skyscrap
[er]

v.
tenderloin

I want to say
something about the
strange mohawk guy,
whom I like,
and the oil slick steaks,
the doggy photos, or
friendly neighbourhood
patrons,

but

(there’s flesh chunks
on your hands
as you fondle
my credit card)

vi.
antique
ssssssss

heywood-wakefield
dining suite
american
mid 1950s

shaker rocker
slat back
american
dates from the period
1760-1800

lion ginger jar
qing dynasty
ad 1870

man, woman, naked
from waist up, holding
up empty conch shells

elephant carrying
woman, sitting sideways
cross-legged,
also a lion

tribal mask cd stand

shiny gold buddha

block of wood,
made into bench

empty drawers
empty shelves

big metal painted
rooster

hanging wooden masks
disney statues
coca cola clock
dragon vase with stand
gawdy painted armadillo

baby elephant hugging
mama elephant
sea gulls with wire
hanger legs
blue, yellow, green,
white stained glass
stick people holding
candles

wooden horse, leaning
down to eat

vii.
uppity

I lost my daughter’s
toque on a flight to
Saskatoon.
We were bearing
crackers made of local
cranberries
and rosemary.

It’s too bad too.

It was organic cotton.
(and it matched
her baby legwarmers.)

viii.
third-world dining

Conceptually, I’m
intrigued, but not
enough to make me
walk through the door.

The scent of family
effort pervades the
street, not what else.

[a stanza is missing]

I’ll go in one day
out of guilt though,
I know it.

ix.
password
1234567890

outside, a dog
with a tumour on its leg,
shaved like a lion.
smokers.

inside, bad art
hanging from the pock-
marked
walls like
costume jewelry.
hot chocolate.

24 hrs.
free internet.
old piano.
dirty, but spacious
bathroom.
selection of baked
goods.

patrons
talking about
eighties cartoons and
trampolines.
tea.

x.
pink eye

closed curtains.

one year I walked by
before I noticed you,
and it was
my daughter’s eye

on a bad bad day.

xi.
advert

I’d like a sign with
my friend Jim’s face
on it, please,
a billboard, staring
down, with no
caption or purpose,
other than Jim,
in the limelight.

xii.
noodle

slippery, sliding
suck-em-ups,
in a broth, in a bowl.

I assume I know
[something I know]

xiii.
lucky

Snow sticks to trees
outside the heavy yellow
door, blue.
Inside, boxed pictures,
captions, red.

Employees excitedly
chatting with preteens,
who waited in the
cold for this.

American prices
on American goods,
superheroes.
Wolverine, he was
Canadian. Weapon X.
But he too realized that
Canada needs something
other than super.

There’s a gallery
in the back,
behind the till.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. May 24, 2010 3:08 am

    This was my final project for an “UrbanPoetics” creative writing class. I made these poems into a cute little chapbook, and they’re about the section of Main Street in Vancouver I lived on. (the 20s)

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