Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Hey, you remember Howie? I remember Howie. What a jerkoff! But I liked the guy. Don't know why. But that's how it is. Let me freshen up your memory. He was the guy with the old grey Dodge. Always stalled at the worse friggen time. Liked to bet on the dogs out at Sodrac Park. Bragged about how he could pick em. Bleached his hair blonde so he could look like one of the Beach Boys. Could not swim but wanted that surfer look. Never had much luck with the babes. He went out with Judy once. She tried to kill herself after only one date with Howie. We use to always give him crap about that. She grew up to become a billing clerk at the hospital.

Wonder what ever happened to Howie? I will tell you what I know. Look the guy graduates from college. A miracle. That was 1970.

So he gets this job out in San Francisco. He is working for a finance company. His job was to be a collector of overdue accounts. His clients are scum. That is what he told Stew. Said they were losers and he hated his job. But he liked San Fran. The hippies and all that free love stuff. He lived with his cousin and her husband. Stew said that something kinky was going on. I don't know anything else about that part of it. But use your imagination. I know you got one.

During this time he gets himself a bunch of credit cards. Uses other peoples names. After about a year he moves to Hawaii. Lives like a king off of the cards for a few months. Then everything comes crashing down. He had to get out of there.

Moved to KC. Worked as a night clerk in lots of cheap hotels. Heard he was a snitch for the cops. Then he got married. Manages an apartment complex for old people on the Kansas side of the river. Probably has something going on. Thats the last I heard.

You got people down in KC. Ask them if they heard of him. If you hear anything, let me know. I need to talk to him about a mutual friend. Don't worry. Nothing serious. It is a personal matter.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Long Gone Gardens

People always talking.
Talking about their gardens.

I got no garden.
Use to have one.
No I had two.
Vegetables in the back yard.
Flowers and herbs in the front yard.

That was years ago.
I had a house.
Now I live in an apartment.
No space for a garden.
No time for a garden.

Long gone gardens.
I still visit in my dreams.
The rosemary remembers me.
Prairie coneflowers.
Walkways of old paving brick.

My kids still young.
Them asking why we are here.
Cosmic question prompted by a peapod.
Me saying that we are here to grow.
Always here gardens.

People always talking.
Talking about their gardens.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

This Blog is 2 Years Old

On May 11th Factorytown will be 2 years old. To celebrate I am holding a virtual potluck dinner that will last the entire month of May. Please tell me what you are bringing in the comments section.

I have written a little under 100 posts during the first 2 years. The first month, May 2005, I posted about 25 times. Most were poems that I had previosly written. The first post was Yellow Car. It is a prose poem that won 3rd or 4th place in a contest back in 1998. The judges were friends of mine and there were 4 entries. I won a certificate for a pizza. My later to be wife and I ate the pizza a few days later.

I invite the readers of this blog to click on the "May 2005" link in the archives to see how it all began. Thanks for reading!

Friday, May 04, 2007

Slow Day Street Scene

Been raining.
Off and on all day.
A little sun.
Maybe an hour's worth.
It is Friday.
Fourth of May.

Guy in the next office yells at me.
Look out the window.
We are on the second floor.
Good view of the street.
Three lanes.
One way going south.

Four people near the alley.
Between a bank and the library.
Plain clothes cop.
Assistant city attorney.
Man in black.
Woman in black.

The cop walked across the street.
The attorney walked up the alley.
A delivery truck parked.
Some cars drove by.
The sun was bright.
The couple in black were just standing.

He in an old black suit.
He with a white shirt.
He with a black fedora.
He with white socks.
He with black shoes.
He with a white unlit cigarette.

She with a black t-shirt.
Words too small to read.
She with black sweat pants.
She with white tennis shoes.
She with brown hair.
She with sunglasses.

They were just standing.
They were just talking.
White cigarette still unlit.
Now she bends down.
Now she ties his shoes.
Now they move on down the sidewalk.

Only ten feet they walk.
White cigarette still unlit.
He limps slightly.
She shuffles.
They stop at some steps.
He ties his shoes this time.

Now they are moving again.
He limping slightly
She shuffling.
Sun not shining.
Delivery truck pulling away.
More cars going by.

You see things.
You notice things.
You look out the same window.
You see the same street.
Sometimes it rains.
Sometimes the sun shines.