In honor of April being National Poetry Month, today I’m going back even deeper than he old Marchives – my repository of previously used (in one form or another) poems. This one comes from some forty years ago: it is the first poem I ever wrote just for the sake of writing a poem.
That has some significance to me as it was one of the first years I traveled alone, via Greyhound bus, from Denver, Colorado, where my family had moved when I was ten, to my hometown of Minneapolis, where I spent the summer with family and friends.
All-in-all, I think it holds up well; it’s not a horrible piece, especially taken in the context of being written by a fifteen year old boy.
Here, for the first time in print or electronic form, in its original, typewritten form (I still have the typewriter, BTW) is Minnesota Seasons. May the poet in you be inspired!
– Mark Lucker
Sitting alone at a bar
downing rows of tequila shots
earns you your bar cred
griping rights: politics, sports,
love, loss, life’s inequities
privilege, at the very least
knowing, indifferent nod,
tacit agreement smirk
‘go for it’ shrug
Sitting by yourself at Starbucks’
throwing back espresso shots
buys you a hipster buzz
clicking away on your laptop
caressing your smartphone to life
earning you little more
than barista indifference
as they lack the hereditary
imperative of the best barkeeps
worldly servers, even
beverage gentrification of the
traditional, dimly-lit, urban habitat
renders the trusted, guru-esque
breed of mixologist one of our
most endangered species
Master the artful hybrid genetics
of barkeeps and barista
there is a Nobel Prize for you.
Or at very least, a perpetually
overflowing tip jar.
– Mark Lucker