watch me applying tinted serum or wearing snake skin heels, i’m on the gram, insta, & luckily you pause to watch me, because i matter, this matters, my feet, my face, my expensive complexion, i look good, toes covered in dead reptiles, you make me happy with your likes & i make you happy as you ponder buying products to be like me, symbiotic, our relationship, me, wealthy, well-kept, well-dressed, you, trying to keep up, keep trying.
Category: Poetry
When I Used To Ski
injured vertabrae is my reality, what do i miss? you ask in february, easy to answer, cross-country skiing, white snow, pine trees, vast mountains, i’m nothing & everything, expanse of time & space, gliding on undulating slopes, effort sweat spreads, limbs working hard, heartbeat, blood knows i’m at peace, no cellphone reception, only the next climb, one ski in front of the other, smooth swish, bits of ice crystal on boots, now just memories.
When The Holidays Are Over
no more 8am waking up, dean martin really can’t stay, chestnuts stop roasting, the hallmark channel starts to countdown from 364, the radio quits playing it’s the most wonderful time of the year, dead christmas trees adorn city concrete, jimmy stewart disappears back into nostalgia, family says goodbye, credit card bills get paid, calories are cut, gym memberships rise, green & red sweaters go back into cedar chests, thank you cards are written, hot chocolate loses its luster, mistletoe romance becomes memory, new year’s resolutions begin, to do lists resurface, everyone gets a little older & 2023 says goodbye.
Listening To My Shortwave Radio
you might think it was all tina turner, the cars, or tears for fears, but vinyl could only take me so far, same songs, over & over, flip to side 2, try to save allowance money for the new billy idol album, or listen to casey kasem, see if anyone fresh was in the top 40, but then i got my GE shortwave radio & became an auditory magellan, forget karma chameleon & all that pop sound, i now spent nights slowly turning the dial, on a quest to travel the airwaves, listening as the basketball play by play guy said, louisville has the ball, i added a marker dot to my map of cities: new orleans, pittsburgh, morgantown, buffalo, each night i tuned in to: games, preachers, news, weather, anything & everything, in search of a new locale, another mark for my map, of course it was more than this, i was a 1980’s lewis & clark kid, connecting with my country, & this is still what i’m doing today, except i’m the one broadcasting & you might be in croatia instead of cincinnati.
Working at the 30th Street Senior Center, 1996
the elderly are grumpy, cloistered together in plastic chairs, waiting for their number to be called, i’m the guy with the microphone calling the numbers, the elevator can only take 8 people down to the cafeteria at a time, i’m so lonesome all the time, since i left my baby behind, on blue bayou, i’m crooning to the mostly spanish speaking geriatric crowd, entertainment for the hungry, they smile, call me young clin-ton, or danielito, charlie is my elevator operator, he gives me a shout when he’s ready for more people, send them my way danny boy, they shuffle their feet, eager to eat a free meal, i say hello to conchita, manuel, margarita, & maria vela, they are all so kind -i only worked at the senior center for 6 months, but they gave me a few hundred dollars & a nice card when i left, periodically i looked through obituaries over the years, one by one they disappeared.
Thinking About The Suburbs
just read bukowski’s poem hello, how are you? he deftly takes down suburbia, little green lawns, little homes, like the beat writers, everyone loves to hate the suburbs, this has become a truism for some, make fun of the burbs, but my question is: post-world war 2, what should have happened instead? cram hundreds of thousands of returning veterans back into cities, stack floors up to the sky, no grass, just concrete? or should they have joined some sort of back to land movement? corporal jackson returning from iwo jima can enjoy 10 acres in bartlett, nebraska (population 176 in 1940) 3 hours away from omaha? no, suburbs seemed inevitable, near enough to urban areas for work, close enough to golf courses for leisure, artists are against the sameness of suburbs, but conformity is baked into all cultures, that is how they have survived, but just because i’m typing on a macbook pro, doesn’t mean that i can’t write whatever i want to.
White Christmas in Rochester, New York
i’m dreaming of a white christmas, first sung by bing crosby, 1941, only a few weeks after pearl harbor was attacked, listened to by millions, but only a large handful have ever had a real white christmas, like the ones i used to know in the late 1970’s & early 1980’s, snow stacked high, fireplace crackling, tins & tins of homemade cookies, ham baking in the oven, neighbors stopping by for eggnog, my grandfather’s organ playing all the songs, rudolph, jingle bells, deck the halls, the fir tree with gifts under every branch, dozens of christmas cards on the mantle, tinsel draped below, at night tucked into my father’s childhood bed, i peeked out past the wooden bedposts & waited for santa, this was christmas.
Humpty Dumpty & Row Your Boat
humpty dumpty sat on a wall, you know the rest, but what does it mean? when you were a kid did you think humpty was an egg? a fat greedy person? a king? where was the wall? how high was it? why was humpty precariously perched up there? and why did mother goose share such things? then there is row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, strive, work hard, but not too hard, be happy, life is but a dream, what do these nursery rhymes mean? in one, life is a risky disaster, the pieces will never fit back together again, the other demonstrates utopian optimism, combined they explain human existence.
My First Solo Apartment, 1996
throughout college i had roommates, later, i futon-surfed my way through the east & west village in the nyc, by the time i landed in san francisco during the fall of 1996 i was done with roommates for good, that is when 204a day street found me, a 3-minute walk from my job at the 30th street senior center where i was the bilingual (spanish) volunteer coordinator, $540 a month & it was mine, when i first moved in i had a cot to sleep on, 6 cds, & a plant, spartan, no question, apartment highlights included: getting up at 5am to admire comet hale-bopp from my roof, hosting thanksgiving & a paella dinner party, listening to sonny rollins on sundays while cooking pasta -my solo sf apartment adventure ended when i moved to paraguay in 1998, but there are moments when i daydream about studio-living, less really was more.
Nitzana: Israeli Archeological Site 1993
negev desert, judea, where jesus once was, at least the bible says so, how to know such things? i’m digging in the earth, sliding shovel across the surface, not chopping into sun-laden ground, that breaks plates, pottery, artifacts, i see richard in the distance, bandana around his neck, this is his club med, his happy place, last night he told me about his termite business back in anaheim, says he saves up all year to come out here, to be alone with god in the land of the new testament, & he’s not wrong, they were here, nabateans, romans, byzantines, arabs, persians, turks, jews, muslims, christians, they built, conquered, lived, loved, died, their shadows surround us as we labor.
Daniel W. Polk 