STUCCO
STEVE IS NOT A POET
Hi! My name is Steve and
I am not a poet. This might be more a disclaimer than an introduction.
For instance, I’ve never been mistaken for a famous poet,
or a famous anything for that matter. It’s funny, but just
now I am beginning to see what has held me back all my life. I do
not have the experience, training or education to qualify as being
good at something. One of my old girlfriends used to ride my ass
for getting fired from every job I attempted. Misplaced self-esteem
would cut in and I would respond in a macho, assertive way with
“No one company can contain me” or something equally
nutty. Anyway, though not a poet, I actually have penned two poems.
The first poem was a second grade class assignment.
The class voted my poem the best and I won the grand prize, which
turned out to be some chocolate thing filled with what most likely
Phenobarbital. After lunch I was sure sleepy! Last week for some
odd reason I thought about that poem and sat down and wrote another.
It is my sincere wish that La Jerga readers will vote my second
epic the best poem in this issue. That would insure my perfect record
of having all my poems become award winners. First, here is my second
grade award winning effort entitled My Little Doggie.
My little doggie has no tail,
Give me a hammer and give me a nail –
I’ll make my little doggie a tail!
Catchy, huh? Even the casual reader does not miss the latent image
proposed by the poem. So, last week I was stewed and thinking about
another poetic effort. The subject matter came easy. It seems recently
I’ve been in numerous conversations with long-term San Miguel
residents all containing the variable – what happened to the
good old days? So I sat down and wrote I Remember When. Anyone reading
this article could write their own version of I Remember When. My
version came to me in the cadence of a slow waltz. I’m not
sure that is important because hell, I’m not a poet. But if
it helps the reader out, you might try reading it in that fashion.
You could dine on a dime,
And waste all of your time –
But to get a phone was a five-year wait
When hooking up was so easy
And the girls oh, so squeezy –
The kind of fun you just love to hate
Rents were so low
The maids cost us zero
And the price of fresh fish is what I once paid for bait!
It was a wild crowd
We got loud
And it seemed no one ever complained
A few took a powder
Still others got louder
And today a few might be considered insane
When you lose your mind
You spend all of the time
Trying to figure a way out of the rain
The poets, the painters,
The sinners and the sainters
All the characters that made us feel so much alive
They’ve changed location
The economic situation
Has made ‘em go – they’re gone, artists also must
survive
No more sleeping at the bars
Or waking up in strange cars
There’s tourists, business – we must all appear live
So bienvenidos a San Miguel,
Or welcome to hell
For a dollar I’ll tell you the time
I need the dollar you see
Coz’ it just occurred to me –
I’m short one beer and a lime
But with all these high prices
Three-dollar pizza slices
It must be scary what waits at the end of this line
Adios amigos
Va con Dios
Y por favor, remember to write
No matter where I go
Flying high or laying low
I’ll never forget your plight
I’m not saying your wrong
I couldn’t say that in a song
And furthermore, I’m not claiming to be right
I just remember
Times that were simpler
Work – was a word we so rarely used
Call me aged or jaded
Or too much ex-patriated
I’ll stand before you justly accused
I just hate standin’ ‘round
And watching my lovely town
Getting raped, sold out and unjustly abused.
Remember: Vote for your favorite poem in this issue! |
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