Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Poetic Ass(ignments)

My assignment this week for Creative Writing was poetry. Eh.
Not really my favorite, but here is the one I liked best of the 3 I turned in:

John, John, and Jon

The quiet one, wait—they were all quiet, in a way.

The innocent one, then.

His father’s brothers each had 4 wives; they all lived out on the dusty open plain
Between the great, jutting rocks of the La Salle mountain range.

He was quiet because he was different.

He worked hard and was careful--with her, but not with his rollerskate-shaped car.

It ended up in a ditch, its stereo still blasting, its roof in the dirt.

His jokes were soft around the edges,

Imploring her to return to a time more innocent.

He loved her with adoring eyes and frequent blushes; never a word.

The scary one, yes the creepy one

With his splattered black bag, its clattering contents.

He was a cook, so a big bag of chef’� s knives were the tools of his trade, but.

Were they necessary?
His splattered black duster;

Everything was splattered in their restaurant world.

He asked her out.


She made him know it was as friends, but.

His slicked down hair and hopeful eyes as he picked her up said he disagreed.

They went to the ballet and talked as they drove to the city

Talked with the sun on their left, steadily descending behind the low mountains.

Those mountains meant west, the others meant East.


But she listened to the stories he told of pain and sadness and anger and

then they watched lithe bodies move gracefully on a stage

and she hoped he wasn’t picturing her body moving, at all.

Then there was the sultry-eyed, dangerous, charismatic, broken one.

He loved her much more lightly than the other two, much more accidentally.

He was quiet…full of mystery.

His Camaro, she called it vintage, though truly it was a piece of junk.

His guitar, a prop (a useful one).

She bet him a case of beer

He lost, so she got to drive that car—

In the blackest part of night,

what fun to have found the west’s answer to New England’s backroads:

long, straight, but empty.

The car could fly.

She challenged him then to strip poker;

Next to Truth or Dare.

She thought she had won each match, but then,

with winter biting at the single-pane window in the small bedroom he rented from the night manager,

he said, That was just for fun, right?

And she knew that she was wrong.


The Rice Family said...

LISA!! That was really good!!!!!

I cannot write like that AT ALL. You've got a gift, sister.