Paulelmo's Blog

Albert’s Day Out–a new poem

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Image result for shutterstock pictures of an old ford truck

He set out begrudgingly from the house
’cause he needed Drano and some pants,
and there wasn’t nobody he could call
to ask to go and fetch.

He went timidly as he ventured out into
all that wasn’t the house,
the only other place there is
besides the house.

He cursed bad and lazy drivers and
assured himself that the carelessness and selfishness
were just symptoms of larger societal problems.

He spoke about people who had once been somewhere
but had gone off or died off,
all of his vocalizations coming in various grunts
that only he could translate.

Sometimes he spoke to himself, but
sometimes he was speaking to
the wife who had gone ahead
and who he imagined was surely glad to have made it to
where she doesn’t have to listen anymore.

He parked a truck and exited
about the only form of technology that he is
comfortable with outside of a kitchen,
and he cringed as he walked into a world
with more kinds of technology than
he couldn’t get comfortable with in a million years.

He finds what he’s looking for easy enough,
because he’s not a moron and
still knows how to walk a store and read,
and he waits longer than he would have to
if he were to allow himself to conduct his transaction
in any manner other than
handing cash to a human.

He makes himself stay silent,
not amazed by how they have
even made that basic thing complicated,
with all the questions, and
yes, he’ll give a dollar so that
local kids can have it better.

He looks around at all the technology
and wonders how all of that can make it simpler
than one person telling someone how much a thing is
and that person giving them that much money.

His purchases in tact,
he makes it back to the safety of his Ford,
and he manages to navigate his way through the
seemingly endless supply of drivers,
who’d be better served if they could hear
the cussing behind his grunts.

And he makes it back home,
that only other place there is,
the only place he cares to be.

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