Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
Lexi Wight made her debut on Stone Soup's ever-changing stage. Much props to Skoot Mosby for introducing her to us. We made some new friends, and a new poem came out of it. I wish I had more to say in my introduction, but now I'm heading to work feeling very much like the subject I describe in the poem below. Unintentionally prophetic? I just appreciate Lexi for performing poems that reminded me me of my old service jobs. Almost two decades away from that life, and Lexi reminded me that there's still a ton of stuff I've never written about. But that's for another time. Thanks for reading.
Bus Stop Bent
Broken, but not broke.
Enough to call a cab.
scoop you off the street.
The death's head stuck
on the back of your head
reads like a bar code.
You could retreat
to family compound,
one more tinfoil tyrant,
wait to be interrupted
by latest manifest
on sticky note pads.
Keep feet in cold,
negate melting point
on tungsten-tough toes.
Habeas corpus yourself
to work. Tattered but on time,
one part of day is won.
Left my phone at home. The photo of the open mic list will have to wait.
Special thanks to Julia Vogel, Michael Igoe, Pete Andrews, James Van Looy, Joseph Skoot Mosby and Lexi Wight.
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