The Last Note before the Last Winter
Found in a photo shoebox
when the house was sold
written on a torn piece of
1978 Upstate NY road map
I hope you
had a great day
at work today
I have remounted
the shower curtain
that fell so suddenly
into the tub last night
So now it is fixed
ready to use
so simple
so easy
for me to do
The mounting rod
only needed
a slight adjustment
I will drop by again
maybe next Spring
for another adjustment
if you would like me to
PS
I fed Little Rascal
I think she likes me now
She’s only frightened
when I start my motorcycle
First Grubstake
Summer 1965
sixteen years old all alone
one hundred hot sticky miles from home
Merced California packing green tomatoes
Dylan singing his electrified “Like a Rolling Stone”
long lonely lyrics lingering in my soul
from a battery low tinny sounding
five transistor radio
“How does it feel,
to be on your own?”
My first tired Tuesday
down to forty one cents
first payday coming Friday
gas tank reading dead empty
only one decision makes sense
buy gas with that forty one cents
hope it will last... ‘till Friday
Bedroom of tongue and groove
paint peeling up creaky stairs
buck sixty a night
trucks grinding up the 99
my bindle running light
half a jar of mayo
three slices of white
too late to recalculate
seed needs of my first grubstake
for my very first solo flight
Tummy starts to growl and rumble
takes on an incessant voice of its own
Grumble Grumble Grumble
louder louder and louder
a grumpy new companion
won’t leave me
won’t let go
new companions who never leave you
when you strike out on your own
There’s no going back
young hungry wet eared chap
Like coach said grit it out suck it up
the stands are empty take another lap
“How does it feel?
Ah, how does it feel?
To be on your own?”
Edward Ferri, Jr. lives near where he grew up on a "non profit" farm on the dry side of the Santa Cruz Mountains in California when "Bailing wire, gumption, and spit" were the "apps" of the day. He is a tribal member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation of Shawnee, Oklahoma. His poetry has been published in Muddy River Poetry Review, Your Daily Poem, Haiku Universe, Still Crazy, Agave, Hobo Camp Review, Shot Glass Journal, Main Street Rag, Constellations, Illuminations Galerie and Monterey Poetry Review. He is the author of GLASSY AIR, Poems Kindled in the Long Shadow of a Lone Motorcycle.
Found in a photo shoebox
when the house was sold
written on a torn piece of
1978 Upstate NY road map
I hope you
had a great day
at work today
I have remounted
the shower curtain
that fell so suddenly
into the tub last night
So now it is fixed
ready to use
so simple
so easy
for me to do
The mounting rod
only needed
a slight adjustment
I will drop by again
maybe next Spring
for another adjustment
if you would like me to
PS
I fed Little Rascal
I think she likes me now
She’s only frightened
when I start my motorcycle
First Grubstake
Summer 1965
sixteen years old all alone
one hundred hot sticky miles from home
Merced California packing green tomatoes
Dylan singing his electrified “Like a Rolling Stone”
long lonely lyrics lingering in my soul
from a battery low tinny sounding
five transistor radio
“How does it feel,
to be on your own?”
My first tired Tuesday
down to forty one cents
first payday coming Friday
gas tank reading dead empty
only one decision makes sense
buy gas with that forty one cents
hope it will last... ‘till Friday
Bedroom of tongue and groove
paint peeling up creaky stairs
buck sixty a night
trucks grinding up the 99
my bindle running light
half a jar of mayo
three slices of white
too late to recalculate
seed needs of my first grubstake
for my very first solo flight
Tummy starts to growl and rumble
takes on an incessant voice of its own
Grumble Grumble Grumble
louder louder and louder
a grumpy new companion
won’t leave me
won’t let go
new companions who never leave you
when you strike out on your own
There’s no going back
young hungry wet eared chap
Like coach said grit it out suck it up
the stands are empty take another lap
“How does it feel?
Ah, how does it feel?
To be on your own?”
Edward Ferri, Jr. lives near where he grew up on a "non profit" farm on the dry side of the Santa Cruz Mountains in California when "Bailing wire, gumption, and spit" were the "apps" of the day. He is a tribal member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation of Shawnee, Oklahoma. His poetry has been published in Muddy River Poetry Review, Your Daily Poem, Haiku Universe, Still Crazy, Agave, Hobo Camp Review, Shot Glass Journal, Main Street Rag, Constellations, Illuminations Galerie and Monterey Poetry Review. He is the author of GLASSY AIR, Poems Kindled in the Long Shadow of a Lone Motorcycle.
