Monday, April 25, 2011

R. Whalen Napping

West Hall is filled with geriatrics;

It seems the people that fill these offices,

Not one is under the age of fifty.

Older women dressed in sweaters and slacks

With Black Hills Gold earrings

And oversized gaudy necklaces

Dyed, perfectly styled hair.

Their desks strewn with pictures

Of children, and grandchildren

And comedic cats.

There is an office door which is almost always closed.

R. Whalen states the plaque.

The door when open, reveals an ancient man

In his eighties

His balding, liver spotted head

Resting on his chest in an afternoon nap.

Wearing a dignified navy blue sweater vest

Looking the part of the retired professor.

I wonder if he passed away, in his sleep

In that hot cramped office, would people notice

His leaving,

Or think he was merely napping?


 

Catherine Schmidt

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Flea Market Discovery

The dust is tickling my nose

As we rifle through the stacks

Of our youth, sorted by genre

And labeled with rummage sale stickers

Two dollars for my memory

Of dancing in the living room with Lizzy

To Baby Elephant Walk or

Fifteen for your late night excursions

Into the Strawberry Fields

Our memories are in these piles

Every pop, crack and needle slide

We gather them up,

Giggling at our discoveries

And drive away with our find

Dust-covered memories

For only $20.95.


 

Catherine Schmidt

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