Emma Lee

There once was a girl named Emma Lee.
She was a spunky little thing, when she came to me.

She cocked her little head, her pert nose raised in glory,
And demanded so sweetly that I must write her a story.

I raised my head humbly and considered slowly,
When she snapped her fingers and declared, “Promptly!”

Then she folded up her hands and smiled sweetly,
And she batted an eyelash at my papers discreetly.

As if to say, “I know this story will be all about me!”
But still the lass was wee, and was curious to see,

How expressly words could capture her inexpressible beauty,
And aptly fill long sonnets with the extent of her humility.

So I took my pen to paper, that I might be free,
To write about her with sweet songs and poetry.

But it shocked me when my pencil began to write for me,
And took my hand about, and (I fear) made me write poorly.

The girl asked me what I’d written with eyes so starry,
And she grabbed for my paper, but I said I was sorry.

She pouted, “But what’s it about?”, and I faked a smiley,
And said, “Wickedness. Now please leave,” quite slyly.

But she grabbed it fast, and I felt a little doozy,
As she read those naughty words and looked a little woozy.

I watched her run a-crying, while the paper fluttered spryly,
And I picked up the small sheet, and read a little dryly,

“The end.”

My Sure Escape

Right. So the days have been hectic, so don't judge me for like not writing.... more than five articles this month.

I have few complaints. (Note: I did not say NO complaints - proves I'm still human). Work at PotBelly has been going rather well, but like any job it has both severe negatives and soaring positives. My manager has taken to yelling at me a lot, and I wince at the customers and wish I had the nerve to say, "He's always like that."

My greatest fault is that if I notice a need, my first instinct is to run and meet the need (which leaves my own station unattended) (thus the yelling). I'm still getting the whole highly useful 'assembly line' thing down. I preferr to banter with the fun loving customers and hand them a hot steamy sandwich made with love. (As opposed to briskly handing them a dry sandwich and shooing them towards the cash register). I have since learned that many people don't know how to experience things AS THEY GO. They can't walk slowly through the crowd. Such people care very little for a sandwich made with love, and that is one of the most disgusting type of people I have to make sandwiches for.

Back to my problems. I have one particularly loud-mouthed co-worker who often likes to point out my countless faults in front of customers. Here's a good example. I'm talking to a customer and then she comes up to me and saucily tells me, "Less lip, more grip." I was like, "What? That doesn't even make sense." According to her, I talk too much. Okay, but that was a horribly lame way to say it.

Otherwise, I have learned to generally keep to myself. I did allow myself one huge religious/political debate involving myself, a gay guy, and a guy who studied to be a Rabbi. That got rather heated and I kept laughing because it got so absurdly funny. You'll be glad to know the gay guy and the Rabbi found it amusing as well, so as far as I know I wasn't written up. Otherwise, most people I come into contact with are politically dull and too busy and important to have opinions and share them with a low-life PotBelly sandwich attendant. Admittedly, I have run into a Lowes manager who had a lively political debate with me, but it was almost dissapointing because he agreed with me too much. I like to disagree vehemently and see if they have as good an argument for their beliefs as I hope I have for mine.

Anyways, I'm going to share a poem thingy that I wrote a long time ago that pretty much defines how I'm feeling right now. This summer is stretching on and on.... Admitedly I'm normally not a basket-case when it comes to new things, but this waiting thing is about to kill me! Let the moment I step on my college campus be here! Let people stop telling me how nice it will be for me down there, and how successful I will be in life! I am willing to wager that the summer before one launches out on ones own, is THE longest feeling 3 months one will ever experience. I am pretty confident in saying this, because adults wiser and much older than myself have been telling me that 'once I begin college, life will fly by'. I wanted to say, "Thank you, that was significantly pessimistic, but may I say I am more than ever ready to launch off into the unknown."

Right now, the 'unknown' consists of 'what cheap, adorable, yet durable laptop can I find?', and 'should I splurge and buy school books?' The future and God alone know the answers.

I am stuck here.
In this long day,
With the irrepressible urge to find a bathroom,
And yet not willing to risk
Missing the very minute my ride arrives.
I have watched the road silently,
Sipping my cold ice water,
And longing for relief from
Strange surroundings.
I need to see something familiar,
Something I can kick and call home.
I need to see our little tan Prism,
Or our big hulky blue van,
Rolling towards me with
A familiar knight in shining armor at the wheel.
I want my car to be red,
So that car rolling towards me now,
Will be mine.
My sure escape.

Really, though, if you think about it... If a car were to come pick me up and take me away from all of my problems, I would just find myself in another situation that contains problems. Difficult situations are unavoidable, I suppose, so that means that one has to find the answers to ones internal problems instead of always dragging them along in some kind of pathetic version of a getaway car. Am I right?

On the Brink of a Minnesota Bridge

Crack!
The support cables weaken.
The bridge groans wearily.
Snap!
Cars beep their horns, demanding to get onto that bridge.
A roaring sound.
The cement gives without warning.
60 feet down, cars tumble,
Into the muddy Mississippi river.
Where once was the sound of,
Cell phones ringing,
Traffics’ steady breeze,
Radios beating their way out of windows,
Now sounds crushing cement,
A deadly smack on the water,
A wall of water licking up cars,
Children screaming in a school bus.
And then…
Dust.
Silence.
As the cars and people sink helplessly
To the muddy river’s floor,
The reality sinks in,
For all of Minneapolis, Minnesota,
That those lives are changed forever.
And as sirens,
And children,
And pregnant women,
And parents,
And all that will be affected,
Scream,
You cannot help but think,
That as cars were slowly,
Inching onto the bridge,
And other cars were slowly,
Inching off of that bridge,
Had it cracked 5 minutes later,
Or 5 minutes earlier,
A whole different set of lives,
Would have changed.
Forever.