Lost Change
He stood outside
the newspaper stand
on Michigan & Chicago,
the morning winter chill
made him put on his gloves.
He lit a cigar and said
good morning to three
Walgreens female workers
smoking outside in the cold.
“ It’s almost Old Style time, ”
he proclaimed and handed
a magazine with warm beauty
on its cover to a middle age
office worker who quickly
placed it in a briefcase
and continued to walk.
“ Ain’t it too early for beer, ”
said the redhead between inhales.
“ It’s never to early for Old Style…”
The ladies laughed,
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poem by Charles Lara
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The Tail End
I was 3 in the late sixties
and the television blared
in black and white an image
of United States copters brought in
the American coffins
and life turned up a spark
under the voice of society
and a bullet slained a King in the city of Memphis
and a Kennedy making the next step
around a busboy with a gun in the
summer of sixty-eight
and Hendrix was becoming a legend
while Youth of 70 million boomers
painted itself on the canvas of life,
I remember hunger and my old man saying,
“I’ll go to the track and double my money and then everything will be all right, ”
so my mother would give me carnation powder milk
and spam and the roaches all died of hunger as I watched
Tom and Jerry cartoons made in Hollywood USA
and Generals fornicated with Death
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poem by Charles Lara
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Playbook
We sat around
and drank beer
watched a football game
on a bright warm
Sunday afternoon.
We shuffled poker cards
and played without betting
so after a few hands I folded
and opened another beer.
I sat back and watched
the game on a
wide screen HD TV.
Middle age men cheering
a team that was doomed
from the start of the game.
We ate sandwiches and
complained about the price of gas
and property taxes
and all the other scabs
that come from
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poem by Charles Lara
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