A Talk With Mrs. Lowell Poem by Dan Caliolio

‘I'm anywhere else in the world but home.
I find home in suitcases, and duffle bags, far far away.
To never land I'll escape, I've got no taste for disaster
and I'm just a liar,
so turn me into a steed, I'm noble and you'd agree.
I'm writing to spend hours of reality wasted on this picture perfect caricature.
Right ahead- Blockbuster, people with free time to share, in front of the TV 24/7.
They've gotta present themselves and fall in love with something beautiful,
like music, art, God.

So I'm writing-lovesick but a bit intrigued-and I've got all reasons to bruise the sky.'


-Hello there Mrs. Burges, how are your thoughts today?
Are you reading for imagination, or for your parole officer?
We look up the ceiling ma'am in syncopation, because we're troubled.
And your overalls fail to hide that. But excuse me; I've got
quite an eye for art as well.
Don't you think so Mrs. Burges? - Quite an eye.
You've got carry on books, and that secondhand boots, but you're doing nothing but
half-stepping your thoughts and pretending you're good.
I may never know-yet, I'm still young. Don't you think? Growing older with no one (like you) ,
spending late nights at your local Starbucks, reading letters-from tax payers, about your dearly beloved, your bank statements, your painkillers, your pharmacist, your arthritis doctor, your heartache, from your lost kids, your abandoned husband
Or just reading your regular catalogues from Macy's or JC Penny, or Bloomingdales.
Yeah, I told you I can't wait to grow up.

Did it hurt when your song came on shuffle, Let It Be by The Beatles?
So you bullet slam your head back to the soft
golden-yellow armchair, then
you saw angels from above the neon lights that spell “Decaf or Regular”
The angels higher than the cloudless night sky, higher than your 70's get up.
The pinstriped pink overalls, with your knee high black socks and combat boots, with the golden rimmed reading glasses; condescendingly abstract with cracks, and crevices from the fall back..
You think I don't see through you Mrs. Burges? - I do ma'am.
quite
Well.
I'm waiting for a sign, you're waiting for…let me guess, control?
Over the flow of your rhythm, and against the swing of your hand.
'Cus you just spent Thanksgiving reading letters, drinking that chai latte, lonely, and alone.
I'm brilliant aren't I Mrs. Burges?

It's because I want to grow older, and write my problems on paper and blame it on the world.
And then, as I tell you now, and forever it'll stay-
I'm leaving this town and hitting the high tops of love.

I'm sorry for your loss, your kids must've been devastated, so are you.
Mr. Burges was a great man; he gave you that ring on your hand,
to plant and say, thank you for getting him to sing, and cry.

And now that you're burying your head deep in your book, I'll leave and say thanks,
and an apology for being quite the mischievous kid I am.
I know you've got every reason to see the world in different colors.
You're only human so, good night and thank you for letting Me grab at your thoughts.


-Kid I'm just waiting for my husband to pick me up. But I appreciate the try.
You thought I was a book, but stay away from that Cappuccino tonight.

I stood still, dazed and shocked that I just got pistol-whipped across the face
by reality; then I fell on all my fours.



-And by the way,
my name is Mrs. Lowell.