consider a payphone

consider a payphone
device once imperative,
relegated to communicative
impotence.

in my neighborhood there is a man who talks always on the payphone outside my house for hours in putrid summerevening heat
and in the bitterest of colds
he remains
and prattles on in Spanish
recounts the doings of his days
to lost friends in daydream places
and family members, long departed.
maybe him they can hear, but i know
that phone hasn’t worked in years.
yet he endures in his soliloquy
in tears, at times
to whatever passing ghost will listen-

i saw a woman

who passed a payphone dangling
from its medieval, spindly appendage

she

stopped
though engaged in citylikethings

and replaced it with the utmost of care
as if
restoring to life
an artifact, of some former, lesser
wellconnectedage.

just as everyman, richorpoor
fondles irresistibly its convivial trap door
hoping to find
the remains of some
previously forgotten treasure,
no matter

how small

the words left behind,
undialed.

This post is a poem.

let's go easy on the eagles

Cheer up, kid, it's not your fault. They were supposed to go for it.

Yeah, okay, they punted, and they shouldn't have. but let's face it: the Eagles had a tough season. The schedule was rough, they lost their fearless leader early on, and face other significant injuries throughout. Jeff Garcia and the vets on offense and defense (read: Westbrook, Dawkins) combined with newfound talent (Baskett, Buckhalter) to string together a team that rallied back late in the season and got further than anyone in Week Six would have imagined. And yeah, in the end, in true Eagles fashion, they defeated themselves. But the Saints were a team that more or less had it together all season and should be a strong contender next season as well.

So, come on, Philly, go easy on the birds... they have proven themselves capable of at least self-regeneration. I resolve - and you should with me - to become a "good Philly fan," one who refuses to fluster at the flippant lack of any significant championship in my lifetime, and one who, despite the irascible, acidic pinching of my stomach, says with starry-eyed hope:

There's always next season.

Go Phillies.




This post is introspective, at least by Philly standars.