Like A Pebble In My Shoe

I have a trumpet at home
That I call lulu bell
I’ve been a trumpet player
Ever since junior high school
And I am very proud
To say so

I love the voice that
Playing the trumpet
Gives to me
I like the high shrill notes
Like taking the loop
At the top
Of the rollercoaster
And I like to go fishing
For the low bass notes
That hide in the
Dark waters
Of the musical scale
(Bottom fishing
As I like to call it)
I play more than
One instrument
And I am always
Eager to pick up
Something new
That I never tried before

I have a hunger
For the bow fiddle
Blue grass style
New Orleans style
(Are You Washed
In the Blood of the Lamb?)

When I first got divorced
One of the first things my ex did
Was to sell my trumpet
(Along with my golf clubs
And anything else of mine
That she could lay her hands on)

What she did has always
Stuck in my craw
And it has always
Bothered me
(Even now
All these years later
Like a pebble in my shoe)

So once my divorce
Became final
I made sure
To buy a new trumpet
And a new set of golf clubs
(As soon as I was
Able to recover
From the many
Snake bites that
I had received during
My so-called marriage)
(And I still have all the
Fang mark scars
To prove it!)

But I am older and
Hopefully wiser now
(What’s that they say
Once bitten twice shy?)
I can sure vouch for that

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

Lake Pontchartrain

How is it possible
To be nostalgic for a
Place that
I have never been?
(Lake Pontchartrain!)

I guess it comes
From having seen the lake
So much on TV
During the televised
News coverage of
Hurricane Katrina
(How soon we forget!)

Also then too
There were
All of those beautiful pictures
Of the lake
Lovingly filmed during
The recent HBO series
Treme
That so totally captured
The scenes and essence
Of post Katrina
New Orleans

I was especially moved
By one of the show’s
Finale episodes
During which
John Goodman’s character
(An irate Tulane University
English Lit professor)
Commits suicide by
Jumping off the
Lake Pontchartrain ferry
(The fictitious professor
Was not alone
Post Katrina suicides in
New Orleans spiked off the charts)

Hopefully
New Orleans is
Finally on the rebound
And coming back
To renewed life
I would very much
Like to think so
(And by all accounts
I am hearing mostly good things)
As I would not like
To go on
Being nostalgic
For yet another grand
(And from all accounts
Magical place)
That I have never (yet) been

(I hope to remedy
That situation real soon
On the bonnie bonnie banks
Of Lake Pontchartrain!)

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

On A "G" String And A Prayer

You say that
You want to
Become  someone
And to find out
Who you really are?

Well you can always
Buy yourself some time
At Whiskey Joe's
Honky Tonk Bar

You can always
Climb up
On that stage
And wrap
Your thighs
Around that dancing
Pole

Just don't let them
(All those
Gawking
Grasping
Drunken
Sweat soaked
Men)
Get a toe hold
On your soul
(Repeat twice)

And you can stare your
Laser beam stare
Into their hungry eyes
As you keep
Telling yourself lies

Is it just a temporary job
Something that doesn't really matter
Just something lucrative to do
While you're growing
Older and fatter?

Or should you go to that
Community college instead
To learn how to become
A paralegal?

But how will doing that
Keep your kitty cat fed
Or make you feel
More regal?

(But how will doing that
Keep your kitty cat fed
Or make you feel
More regal?)

You say that
You want to
Become  someone
And to find out
Who you really are?

Well you can always
Buy yourself some time
At Whiskey Joe's
Honky Tonk Bar

So which move
Will prove to be the smarter
Learning a technical trade
Or counting the dollar bills
Stuffed into your garter?

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

The Greek Lady In The Aluminum Van

I would see her
Just about
Every morning
In her aluminum
Food vendor van
A kitchen on wheels
Where she spent
Every early morning and
Early afternoons
Serving up
Delicious
Sausage egg
And cheese
Sandwiches and
Hot dogs and
Hot coffee and
Sweet tea and
Ice cold sodas and
A whole rainbow
Of assorted fruit juices and
Bags of potato chips and
Small packets of
Rich chocolate chip cookies

Her name is
Fredericka and
She is most definitely
(And proudly)
100% Greek
She was a woman
Of a certain age
(Late fifties)
And she had been
At her trade for
The past 36 years
Hardly ever missing
A day

I had long been
A faithful customer
Buying more than
My share of her morning
Bacon
Egg
And Cheese
Concoctions
(With a small hot coffee
Milk and sugar and
A fruit juice to go)
Almost every morning
Before heading in
To my office
For my daily 9 to 5 shift
In the salt mines
As a chain gang
Worker bee
In the city’s mammoth
Governmental
Bureaucracy
(Where the daily lashings
Will continue
Until morale improves)

“I gotta go make the donuts!”
I would usually say to her
While taking my leave
As I paid her
My usual $5 tab
She would always
Politely say
Thank you in Greek
(Efcharisto!)
(Σας ευχαριστώ!)
And I would respond with
You are welcome!
(Parakalo!)
(Είστε ευπρόσδεκτοι!)

Over the years
We had become
Friends and
She had become
My Greek language teacher
(It always pleased her
To have a little conversation
With me
In Greek
To impress
Who ever was also
Waiting in line
For their
Coffee and donut
It was a little game
That we played)
(Then she would tell me
That I also had the worst
Greek accent that
She had ever heard!)

Being Greek
She was no stranger to
Tragedy
(Although we also had
Our share of laughs-
She always did
Have a great
Sense of humor
In an off-color
Greek sort of way)

Ted
Her husband of 35 years
Had recently passed away
Due to a losing fight
With prostate cancer
(Frederika often said
That she thought that
It was the hospital treatments
That may have killed him first
But that is another story)

Ted was a gruff man
Though he could also
Be a kind and gentle
Big bear of a man
Ted often worked
Side by side with his wife
(In that cramped
Aluminum lunch wagon)
In all kinds of weather
Day in and day out
Year after year
But it was clear
How much they
Loved each other

Fredericka took his passing
Very hard
But she mourned him publicly
For only two weeks
Before carrying on
With the little
Kitchen on wheels
Business that the
Two of them had
Built up together
Over the years

I would often
Try to console her
Whenever she would give vent
To her considerable sorrow
Over the loss of her
Wonderful Ted

It was a kind of therapy for her
To wear her heart on her sleeve
And she had a loyal following
Of customers who would
Invariably also become her friends
(And she had legions of them!)
Fredericka and Ted
Also had a son
Also named Ted                                                                                                                                                                
(But we all
Called him Teddy)

Teddy had his own little
Kitchen on wheels
And he worked
On the next block over
Serving up
Hotdogs and
Coffee and
Philadelphia style
Cheese steak hoagies
Just like his
Mom and pop

But Teddy
(Lord love him)
Was also a drug addict
With heroin being
His favorite
Drug of choice
(A very risky business
On the hard
Streets of Philadelphia
Where the purity of
The horse could vary wildly
Or so I have been told)

A few days ago
Fredericka found Teddy
In his bathtub
Dead from an overdose of
Horse
Her worst fears and
Nightmares had
Come true

The shocking news
Almost killed
Poor Fredericka
On the spot!

After all
She had vested
All of her hopes and dreams
In the hope of
Living to yet see
Her only son married
With and arm full
Of babies to raise
(The more the better)

That dream at least
Would make his mother
Very happy
And would also serve
To help balance out
Some of the grief
That she had experienced
In the course of her life

(But sadly
Such a dream
Was not meant
To be)

Ever since Teddy’s
sudden death
Fredericka’s
Little aluminum
Kitchen on wheels
Was no longer
To be seen
In her customary spot
(I later learned from some
Of her former customers
That she was quitting
The lunch wagon business
And that she was looking
For a buyer
For her beat up and
Somewhat broken down van)

Others also told me
(As if I didn’t know)
About how overwhelmed
She was by her loss
“She doesn’t want
To live anymore”
They said and
How could I doubt them?

I did see her
One last time
When she was
In the neighborhood
As she was winding down
Her business affairs

From her car
I could see that
She nodded her head
To acknowledge that
She could see me
As she passed me by

She waved
And even managed
A little tight smile
But I could see
That she was still
Too distraught to talk

I waved back
And I tried to
Offer her my
Shouted words
Of condolence
But she was in a hurry
To leave
And I stood mute
As I watched her
Drive slowly away

Another passerby
Friend of hers
Told me that
She lived in
Upper Darby
A nearby suburb

I told myself that
I wanted to at least
Find a way to
Contact her
And to send her
A sympathy card
That would somehow
Manage to express
How much and
How deeply
I cared and
Sympathized
With her loss

But how to find a
Hallmark card
With just the right
Combination of words?

The words
Would have to be
At once
Beautifully poetic and
Exceptionally caring and
Wonderfully and
Endearingly sweet

And above all else
It must be
Quintessentially Greek!

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

Home Again Alone

I am waiting at the
Xin Xing Chinese take out
For my order of
Chow Har Kew
(Breaded fried jumbo shrimp
Cooked with broccoli
Sno peas
Baby corn
Straw mushrooms and
Chinese vegetables)
When in staggers
A splendid specimen of
One of Castor Avenue’s
Finest female denizens
(Let’s call her
Lady Godiva)
To place her order
For four chicken wings
And a small
Won ton soup

Since Lady Godiva
Has a number of
Missing front teeth
Emily the order taker
Has a hard time
Understanding
Lady Godiva’s order
Which has to be
Repeated
Three or four times
Before Emily
Can figure out
The jumble of
Slurred words
That Ms. Godiva
Has been trying to
Spit out

“That will be five dollars!”
Says Emily to the
Obviously inebriated
Ms. Godiva
Who counts her money
And loose change
At least three more times
Only to realize that she is
A dollar short

Lady Godiva’s
Equally drunk paramour
(Let’s call him
Sir Lancelot)
Is leaning against a
Corner lamp post
And it is painfully obvious
That it is all that
He can do to just
Remain standing
In an upright position
I guessed
That the two of them
Had just stumbled out of
McCurran’s Tavern
Across the street
In search of some dinner
Before calling it a night
And heading home
(Which might be
A card board box
At the 13th Street
Subway platform
Unless Sir Lancelot
Had a SRO
Somewhere in the neighborhood
That he would be willing to share
With Lady Godiva
Even if it was
Just for one night

Lady Godiva rifles through
Lancelot’s pants pockets
Once again
For any loose change or for
Any loose dollars that
She may have missed
During her last scavenging
Operation
And bless her heart
She does!

Lady Godiva
Then rushes
Back into the
Restaurant
Excitedly waving
The liberated dollar
That she had
Found in Lancelot’s
Pants pocket!

Having thus paid for and
Retrieved her take out
Lady Godiva and
Sir Lancelot
Start chomping on
The chicken wings
While hanging on to
The lamp post and
Trying at the same time
To keep
Each other from
Falling down

The two of them
Seemed quite content
With themselves as they
Staggered back
Across the street
Clinging to one another
Dodging oncoming traffic
To make it back to
The warmth and
Alcohol fueled
Fellowship of
McCurran’s Tavern
Me?
I picked up
My food order
And beat a
Hasty retreat
As I walked
Soberly and
Briskly
The half block or so
Distance to my home

I turned the key
In the lock
Stamped the snow and ice
Off of my feet
And slowly went inside

Home again
Alone

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

The Shroud Of Turin Man

The Shroud of Turin Man
Stands on guard
Almost every day
At the entrance
To the post office at
The suburban station
I often see him
Standing there
Like one of those
Self-important
Puffed up
Popping jay
Military martinets who
Feign to guard the queen's
Buckingham palace
For the sake of the
Daily throngs of
Photo snapping tourists

I call him
The Shroud of Turin Man
Because that is what
And who
He looks like
He is the
Spitting image
Of the image on
The famed
(Or is it infamous?)
Shroud of Turin
The so-called burial cloth
That many have claimed
To be the burial shroud of
Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Who is claimed by many
To have been  the
Long awaited
Messiah of the Jews

Every time
I see him there
Standing at his
Self-appointed post
It takes my breath away
That initial
Shock of recognition
How could such a
Phenomenon
Come to be
And then go
So unnoticed
By the milling throngs
Of passersby
Who are so
Focused on
Their own problems
And their own
Need to
Get to work
That they
Ignore
Everything else
Around them

Not me
I am focused
On nothing
I am focused
On the obscure and
The mundane
On the magical
And the mystical
And the miraculous
Should it ever be
My good fortune
To luckily encounter such
(Either that or
I may also have
Adult onset
Attention deficeit
Hyper activity disorder
But for the time being
That will remain
The subject
For another time and
Another poem
So do stay tuned)

I can't help
But notice him
He is so imposing
Such a formidable figure
Standing at around
What seems to be
Eight feet tall
His head appears
To be wrapped
In a turbin
While the rest
Of him is
Wrapped in what
Seems to be his
Winter homeless gear

He stands erect
And ram rod straight
Almost like a soldier
Posted as a sentry
With his arms
Crossed across
His chest
And his eyes
Staring straight ahead
Into the wild blue yonder
Expressionless
Not blinking

His eyes are
Coal black
And his full
Salt and pepper beard
Comes tapered
To a point
Like a spear

His expression
Is stoic
And it is hard
To know
If he even breathes
As other men do

His bearing is regal
And other worldly
Oddly serene
And yet
Also somewhat
Menacing
(As large as he is
As looming a presence
As he has become
As if he were here to
Make some important
Pronouncement
But for the fact that
He is just too tired
And world weary
And too sad
To find
Enough energy
Or breath
To do so)

If he could
What earth shattering
Pronouncements
Would he make?

He seems to be
Capable of saying it all
From announcing
The second coming of
The Messiah to
The coming of
Doomsday
(And coming from him
I would be prone
To believe it!)

But as of yet
I have never
Heard him speak
Not to anyone
Not to passersby
Not even to those
Who sometimes try
To give him money
Or to the police
Who are always
Telling him to
Move along
Move along
And warning him
To stop
Obstructing the
Access and Egress
Though he has never
Tried to do either
(I have often heard them
Threaten to lock him up
For loitering and
For failure to comply)
Usually he does not resist
Usually he just
Turns to the right
Or to he left
(Marching off
To the drum beat
Of some distant drummer
That only he can hear)

The next day
Usually finds
The Shroud Of Turin Man
Back at his post
Just standing there
Silently
Vigilantly
Standing in the same spot
As every other day
Standing his ground
Guarding his post
Doing his duty
Carrying out his mission
(A mission that is known
Only to himself)
Making every day
Of my life
Whenever I happen
To see him
Into some kind of
Judgement Day

(The kind of
Judgement Day
That none of us
Ever really wants to
Live long enough
To ever actually see!)

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2012

I'm Walking The Floor Over You

You left me and you went away
    G
You said that you'd be back and just that day
C
You've broken your promise and you left me here alone
  G                                                      G
I don't know why you did dear, but I do know that you're gone


Chorus:
C                          F
I'm walking the floor over you
  G                          C
I can't sleep a wink that is true
C                                                      F
I'm hoping and I'm praying as my heart breaks right in two
G                      C
Walking the floor over you
Ernest Tubb


Did you ever
Have a song lyric
And tune
Just happen to get
Stuck in your head
And no matter
What you did
To try and shake it
The words and music
Just keep
Going on
Round and around
In your head?

The above lyrics and tune
have been
Spinning around
In my brain
For quite
Some time now

Maybe all of this
Compulsive
Obsessive
Stuff
Can be blamed on
My Diabetes
Or I could blame
My high blood pressure
Or maybe
I really do have
A bad case of
Spring Fever
(I plead guilty
To all of the above)

Recently l was
Introduced
To a women of
Immaculate perfection
Right here in the office
Where I continue to work
(At least until
My looming
Retirement date
Finally
Clicks off the time that
I have remaining)

You might say that
For the past year or so
With retirement
Staring me in the face
That I have been on
A kind of
Cruise control
Not really paying
Too much attention
To the goings on
All around me

And then
One fine morning
This past month
I was introduced to a new
Worker here at the office
Who I found to be
Charming
Intelligent
Attractive and
Soft spoken
And who
In all ways
Would make
Taking a walk
Through the park
(Or along the
 Lincoln Drive)
On a beautiful
Spring afternoon
Such as this
Into a joyous occasion
Well worth remembering

Her name is Lisa
And she lives in
The nearby suburb of
Jenkintown

We are closer in age
Than I originally thought
At first blush
And I could really
Wax poetic
About her other
Qualities
(If I was a better poet
And not all thumbs
As I am today)

I did wish her a
Happy Valentine’s Day
This past week
When red and pink
Boxes of cherry filled
Chocolates were
Everywhere to be seen
She smiled and
Wished me the same
And let me tell you
At my age and
For a man
In my much to be desired
Physical condition
That smile
Meant everything to me
(I can predict that
I will be living off of
The glow of that smile
Many months from now)

It was about
That time that
I began hearing
The singing voice
Of Ernest Tubb
Singing his signature hit
I Am Walkin The Floor Over You
Going round and round
In my head

Call me crazy
But I do believe
That all of the
Above events
Are somehow
Karma connected
And
I may even do
something crazy
about it
(Perhaps one day
I may even
Have enough
Guts and intestinal
Fortitude
To actually
Show her
This poem).
Now wouldn’t that
Be something, eh?

(Stranger things
Have happened!)

jhmarkowitz
Philadelphia, Pa. 2010