Yard Sale
Author: Bill Roberts
I settle back in my fold-out chair
smack in the center of my driveway
and open “The Best American
Poetry 2004,” turn to page 36
and try for a third time to read
Charles Bernstein’s goofy long poem,
“Sign Under Test,” without any luck.
The poem, hopefully not like this one,
doesn’t make any sense, and maybe
that’s the way it was in that year,
2004, the entire collection chosen by
Lyn Hejinian (unknown to me) more
than a bit off-center, but that might
sound like sour grapes since not
one of my poems did she choose.
But I fail to get through the poem
yet again, this time because an elderly
lady pulls her car erratically into
my driveway, lets down her window
closest to me and yells, “Hey, guy,
where’s all the yard sale stuff you
advertised in this morning’s paper?”
I point to the hand-printed sign
square in the center of my neatly-
tended lawn which reads, YARD SALE,
large letters that even she can read.
I tell her, “The yard’s for sale – I’m tired
of caring for it. Make me an offer.”
Zip, up goes her window, and she
leaves rubber on cement as she departs.
Crazy old ladies. Why does an old man
like me try to figure them out?
Bernstein’s poem makes more sense.
(Published online in the September 2006 issue of Long Story Short)
Note: This poem reminds me of my favorite syndicated cartoon, “Pickles,” starring Opal and Earl. Am I Earl? Is Irene Opal? Probably. I think we all get a little zany, or zanier, with age. But older women are difficult to figure out, so don’t even try. Reminds me, I used to write gags for cartoonists, some of my favorites “The Flintstones” and “The Lockhorns,” as well as many others. No money in it, and my own drawings were just a bit too perfect for mass consumption. Glad I found poetry. Singing, dancing, acting and sports were ruled out early – zero to little talent. Hey, we do what we’re meant to do.
