Today is the official start of the Trybecca Lunch Poem Project. I’m happy to say I’m already receiving poems. Remember, I’ll be doing this for two weeks, so open up your Tupperware and get to writing. It only takes an average of ten forkfuls to pen a poem.
How does the Lunch Poem Project work? You take a lunch break. You write a poem during that lunch break. You send that poem to me. No need to over-edit or meticulously revise. Just have fun.
I had Turkey Chili and bottled water. Here’s my lunch poem for Monday, July 16th:
Boss’ daughter was spelling words phonetically
and instead of actually wrote acshole.
This was in an email to her Granny.
Today I’d like to Cc
I haven’t received your resume, acshole, or
acshole, that fax you sent is streaked.
I’d sound it out in German undertones
the way a harsh Philosophy
inadvertently comforts, else bisect it into lovers
far apart. Ache Soul.
One heart regrows while the other
twitches to a halt.
My friend Rick wrote this great poem about quitting. We used to be travel agents together:
The dread is familiar
When the phone rings, three lines at a time
When they ask for me
I don’t know what to tell them
Nobody told me what to tell them
I climb into bed and it lays down beside me
In the morning, the smell of tea tree
in the shower, yes
but the it is there too
mixing with the suds running down my leg
Sometimes a headache
other times, a cramped up stomach
And there are so many bad songs
Maybe the bad songs are the worst.
Or all the failure.
I didn’t know there’d be so many ways
to measure things gone wrong.
Turns out failure can be spelled with
spreadsheets, percentages, paychecks.
Rank. Anything you want, really
Without writing the angry emails I thought I’d write
Without storming out in a dramatic fashion
I filled out the appropriate form and
wrote a single line.
That line, courteous
No one replied
which didn’t come as a surprise
In a few weeks though,
This chair will be empty
and I will be glad to be rid of it.
Please send your poems to LunchPoemProject@gmail.com