A Poem What I Have Wrote

By Michael Edward Mitchell
Age 53

Hercules and Isosceles
    Were going to the Ball.
Said Hercules to Isosceles:
    "You're the tallest one of all."
Said Isosceles to Hercules:
     "By Jove! I think you're right!"
Then Hercules and Isosceles
     Strolled off into the night.



 Eddie-tor's Note: I couldn't sleep the other night, and this was the result. It was inspired by something one of my former Adult Ed students said one night when we were studying triangles.

The Tale of Ezale

Easel fever seems to be sweeping the junking blogs.  First, Shara found the most awesome easel ever.  Then, Linda found a cute little easel.  During the mall closing, I found one too!  It's vintage, aluminum, and a table top model, which means it's also portable.

Isn't it cute?

My favorite part of the whole thing is the tag the vendor put on it:  Ezale.  Now, I'm not really one to make fun of the spelling issues of others.  I have enough of my own.  Hell, I had to look up whether the correct spelling is "easel" or "easle."  No, it wasn't the spelling that struck my fancy.  It was the word itself.

"Ezale" sounds to me like it should be the name of one of those older country ladies I went to church with when I was a kid.  Or one of those elderly aunts that you would only see at family reunions and such.  I'm almost positive that I knew someone named "Ezale" in those days.  If I didn't I should have.  It's such a good name.

That got me to thinking.  What if Ezale was an artist?  What if this was her easel?  What if that wasn't really a price tag, but her way of marking her easel so no one would take it?   What if Ezale was known for her paintings?  In a small town like I grew up in, everyone would know about Miss Ezale and her paintings.  I bet she could be found somewhere every day with her easel set up, making a new painting.  The story probably went like this:

Ezale took her easel wherever she'd go
From the warm summer beaches to the glorious snow

Ezale was an artist.  How she loved to paint!
She used to tell others:  "With no easel, I can't."

"The easel holds my canvas the way I like it.  Just so.
It helps me make paintings wherever I go."

I'm also thinking that Miss Ezale was a bit absent-minded, hence the need to add "for painting" to her tag, so she would not forget what she was supposed to do with her easel.  The whole town is still taking about the time she showed up in the park with her blender and tried to paint a picture with it.  There are even whispers about the little notes she has to herself all over her house, so she won't forget things.  ("Take your night gown off before you get in the shower" is a local favorite.)  Everyone knows that artists are a little quirky and eccentric, so nobody really questions it too much.  Miss Ezale is the town artistic genius and the local color all rolled up into one.  Everybody loves Miss Ezale.

Then I got to thinking a little bit more.  What if Ezale wasn't the painter, but the name the painter gave to the easel?  I name objects all the time.  Lots of other people do too.  That would certainly explain the price tag.  Ezale actually was for sale!  I think that the new story would go something like this:

Ezale is my easel.  She holds my canvas up for me.
She holds it nice and high, and I paint what I see.

She's my most faithful assistant, my dear Ezale.
Without her all my paintings would surely always fail.

I love my dear Ezale.  We shall never part.
If it weren't for sweet Ezale, I could not make my art.

Every item has a story.  Sometimes you know them.  Sometimes you have to make them up.  Don't tell me I'm the only one who does this.

Closing Day

Let's have one more round for Dixie!
Diet Doctor Pepper
Mountain Dew

Let's sit around the cashier's desk
on that red leather loveseat and swap
stories about
crazy customers
crazy vendors
our crazy lives

Let's remember the place where
everyone knew your name
and we all celebrated good sales
good times
good news
each other

Let's remember the times when we could not
celebrate
because we were sad
and we helped each other out instead

Let's have one more round for Dixie!
Then order lunch
one last time
(Taco Bell again!)

Let's toast the memories of a store that would not quit
no matter what anyone else said about it

Let's drink to each other
to friends
to family

Let's have one more round for Dixie!
Diet Doctor Pepper
Mountain Dew

Michael Edward Mitchell
January 31, 2015

Junker's Serentiy Prayer (Buying Edition)

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change

Like seeing someone else buy something really, really cool

 that I would have really, really loved at a yard sale

Courage to change the things I can

Like buying things I know are re-sale duds over and over again

just because I like them

And the wisdom to know the difference! 

(And help me to remember that it's only stuff,

I won't die if I don't get it,

and there will always be more stuff out there!)

Apologies to Neibuhr

Junker's Serenity Prayer (Selling Edition)

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change

Like those days when the mall is dead 

because it's too cold for anyone to be out shopping 

Courage to change the things I can

Like those days when the mall is packed with people

but no one is shopping in my booth

And the wisdom to know the difference!

With apologies to Niebuhr

Literary Corner: Booth of Dreams

A Poem What I Have Wrote
By Michael Edward Mitchell, age 48
 
If you stack it, they will scatter it.

If you tidy it, they will mess it up.

If you put it in your booth, they will leave it somewhere else.

If someone else places it in their booth, they will leave it in yours.

If you arrange it, they will move it around.

If you stage it, they will leave their empty pop bottles in the middle of it.

If you price it, they will switch the tags.

I'm pretty sure the toy jackhammer doesn't go with the Jesus pics.

If you close it, they will open it.

If you open it, they will close it.

If you put it up, they will take it down.

If you place it, they will move it.

If you put it on a shelf, they will leave it on the floor.

If you try to sell it, they might buy it.

The other stuff, though, is a given.

(Anti-)Ode to the Bricks

A Fuck Cancer Poem Which I Have Wrote

By Michael Edward Mitchell, Age 48

Bricks!

Bricks!

Go Away!

Come again another day!

(Or even better, don't ever come back again!)

Little Eddie

Wants to Play!

Well, actually Little Eddie ain't so little and he needs to get to work,

but then he'd like to:

Thrift

Work at the Booths

Price and Pack Stuff

Go to Yard Sales

Eat Out

Do Work at the House

Do Work in the Yard

Love on that Kosh
Maybe Take a Walk

Whatever.

The bricks are still in the way, though. 

Shoo, bricks, shoo!

Literary Corner (Cancer Edition)

A Poem Which I Have Wrote about My Cancer

by Michael Edward Mitchell, age 48

This is my radiation tan.

It follows my scar

as best it can

to kill the cancer
inside this man.

This is my radiation tan.

I meant to do this one a while ago, when I was really a lot redder, but got too busy to do the pic.  I think you can still see some of the color.  I think it's pretty noticeable, particularly from head on. One of my ears is definitely redder than the other.  The scar is really healing nicely now.

Literary Corner

A Poem What I Have Wrote

By Michael Edward Mitchell

Age 47

Hypotenuse!

You big recluse!

Why must you be so obtuse?

You still look better in chartreuse.

Oh my friend, Hypotenuse!

Stop being such a silly goose.

Cease your torrent of abuse!

Just go put on your silk charmeuse.

We're already late to the damn party.

Literary Corner

Eddie-torial Comments proudly presents:

A Poem What I Made Up Myself

by Michael Edward Mitchell, age 47

Dude.

Jude.

Crude.

Rude.

DUDE!