The first installment of a poetic commentary of airports...

LAX

Surviving the shit show that is LAX

Precarious terminals ridden with otherwise

international clouted passengers.

A menagerie of aviation set against the background

of sprawling squalor.

Prayers of gratitude sent up, for only I

am a passenger through.

IAH

Houston-Bush Intercontinental.

Nepotism

and a

conundrum in every sense of the title.

Wondering why "intercontinental"

is so fitting?

Realizing that "continental" is a hub

indeed.

God be thanked-

airports cannot reproduce.

Paris Baguette

Paris Baguette

Sitting in a cafe' that is neither

Francophone nor stocked replete

with wheat-based confectionary,

the sensations of cheese enlaced

with mustard dance across my tongue.

Ovaled eyes observe.

Spicy tastes give way to easy, easy

evenings of tea and lightly

dusted

sugar.

In this boulangerie that is neither

continental nor sequestering,

golden baked greets sterile light,

eager for the exchange of owner

and home.

Garlic Salesman

Some months ago, I was teaching my adults on a bright and sunny Friday morning.  I had quite the agenda for the day and as such planned a rigorous lesson replete with all the necessary grammar, pronunciation, conversation, and Q/A.  I was informed that class would be interrupted briefly for a sales pitch from a visiting merchant.

Well I thought that was all fine and cool, until I realized this was a man trying to sell products made out of aged and putrified blackened garlic.  Honestly, Korea, honestly?

So after taking up 15 minutes of my otherwise precious Friday morning time, I decided to write this poem over lunch.

The Garlic Salesman

"ARE YOU TASTE!?"

"No, thank you."

Polite and indifferent

for the blackened

(alleged) cancer-fighting

aged

and entrepreneurial root.

Quaint, I know, but a good summary.

too little, too late? never!

Ugh....

Blogging.

Why is it that I'm always too quick to drag my feet to journalistic pursuits?  I have to say that throughout my life, I've been gifted with journals, diaries, albums, and what have you and honestly, I think I've completed one journal from cover to cover (gifted to me from my former and epic Speech and Debate coach).  Lately, I've realized that this is probably due to my propensity to recalling and documenting negative events with less regard to more positive or enlightening ones.

Perhaps I need a Carrie Bradshaw overhaul?  As I (choose to) remember, she does a good job of detailing a gamut of life events (albeit sexual and a lot of otherwise, as well) and one is always left with the sense of some sort of confirmation or affirmation.  In my journals, I feel like an editor who months later reevaluates the minutiae of relationships, comings and goings, and casual encounters.

Which is why I'm going to blog.  Enjoy.