from his bar-stool ... silent on my left
an established,
but
starving writer
read a hand-scribbled, rough draft
of a poem that i
wrote on a restaurant place mat
called a fly shits every three seconds.
“this is great!” he told me.
he bought me a draft in a frosted mug.
“you are the next Bukowski!” he said.
he’s dead … i thought.
“he was monotonous and a drunk,
but i admired his arrogance and spirit.”
i said
forty-eight seconds later
without turning my head, or
removing my hand from a new drink.
he kept talking and kept praising
my
written incoherencies
like an
ant eating the dead carcass of a wasp
as i
continued to ignore him
invisibly
stuffing my ears with inefficient fingers.
i finished his drink
without telling him “thank you”,
ordered another,
and asked Sunflower to
throw the rough-draft in the garbage.
she did. i paid my tab,
and tipped her 63% ...
H.L. Peterson (July 2008)
In a list
A contest entry
- Best AP Poet Contest by davidbetzer.
1500 points, ended August 2, 42 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 25 of 25
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There are amazing visual within this read, some very haunting emotions and a dream like trance of infected thoughts and soul even. Sunflower, a name or a nick name and very different, the light within the dark. Very well done. From beginning to end.
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I have to admit that I am totally terrible at leaving comments--it has never been a strong point of mine. Having said that, I have made a New Year's resolution approaching September that I am going to correct that in some fashion, particularly with poetry such as yours. What I love about this is the detail, the poem written on a restaurant place mat (I do that a lot, but usually toss them), and the invisible fingers trying to block out the starving writer's praise. I can almost smell the cigarette smoke in the place, even though you didn't make any reference to it. All this to say--this rocks. Thanks for the read...
Saffron
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i liked this a LOT
. I Especially enjoyed the specificities of the times and percentage. The starkness makes it read so well. bravo!
~Pt
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You were both right. Lets see. A professor in Connecticut who is a bit smug, wears collared shirts under his sweaters, sips on java, when he's not enjoying a Heineken, and thinks a little to highly of his muted humor.
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ummm, me, no ... a backwoods undertaker from n-western PA that drinks Miller Lite at 6AM after 4 sips from plain black coffee (can't you tell from my writing?)
thanks m8! ... *cheers*
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this is an amazing poem, i wish i could write half as well as you, (((((Hugs))))) joss xxx
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you're really back...it's been quiet awhile...glad to hear or read about your Sunflower again and yeah "bukowski" whichn always remind me of you.
keep them coming Proph
hope toread more about your Sunflower
Anna Lee
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Cool. I've missed pennings about Sunflower, but have missed you more, Scribe of the salty tongue. 
I always knew you were generous to a fault, H.L. 
Nahhh, you're better than Bukowski. 
lil' night
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reminds me of mickey rourke in barfly... damn this is good, have missed your words H.. this one rocks
glad she tipped too hehehheheh good 'un luv
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i just read Hank's book "Hollywood" about the making of that movie (good stuff) am yet to find the movie and watch it ... going to soon ... hang in there hun, luv ya!
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I don't know what I loved more...
your poetic ability, or artistic arrogance, hon.
You're good at this, face it.
Either or, this makes me want to read more.
(fuck, I rhymed that... that's just not right!)
damn fine.
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Very nicely done. Sometimes, I don't like when people say my poetry is great, or I'm the next whoever. bleh, I don't take well to comments. But very nicely written. I hope to read more from you and keep on writing.
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YAYAYAYAYAY
I love that you are adding poetry again!! you are such a talented writer and I am ecstatic to be able to peruse your works again I love your blatent approach to everything! and this one is very good keep writing, dear poet, and I'll keep reading!
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if someone keeps buying the drinks, i'll keep writing ... that's the shit that happens when words sleep past noon on wednesdays ... *cheers* hun
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Wow, I just love the very casual tone to this, and how it still has a very deep message, or more. It just makes me think. I love the irony when the character thinks Bukowski's dead, instead of taking it blindly as a compliment, it's all just so thoughtful. This poem is very ironic and sharp. I found it interesting that you chose to make the very short lines in the third to last stanza words that don't express much... to me, that shows how empty the words of a lot of "popular" poets are. And did you misspell "incoherences" on purpose? Yes, the irony of it is just so strong, but not the painfully obvious kind. Nice work.
~Diana
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for me, the entire write centers on that first stanza..
as the line that catches me the most is this one:
an established,
but
starving writer
from there, everything else connects, oddly suggesting that anything worthy, has no value in a popular world
cheers.
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yeah, like always, you fucking nailed it ... kinda creeps me out, that is the way i wrote it ... i'm going to get another drink now *cheers*
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I can relate
I guess your existential rambling was lost on him.I cant say how many times ive mutered some musing about the impoverishment of humanity only to be told im pretty smart because I can articulate something that seems glaringly obvious to me.it sucks.I can relate.glad you decided to post this one.
later
donutninja -
its a good story...my favourite line i think is the one where you stuff you ears invisibly with inefficient fingers...lol the number of times ive done that...great write =)
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I enjoyed reading this a lot. You have done a great job on this piece. This was such a great write, thanks for sharing it with me.
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I'm just going down the featured poems in a futile attempt to get the price to something approaching reasonable when BANG I am hit by the best grin maker I have read for a while.
Mark you experience says that giving the barmaid a sonnet can be even better than a big tip
. Rewarded 6
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dead is a state of mind - established writers, a dime a dozen...a great tipper, now that is something to be known for
I am on a boat three miles out into blue space and to hell with the coast guard...cracking open a bottle and smiling like the devil. Lane
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