MARJORIE THELEN
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YOUR CART

Some POEMS

​The Ditch Witch Blues  

after helping John again
with some impossible task
in her estimation
this time trying to load 
a 600 pound piece of equipment
a ditch witch
it's big wheels 
spinning in the mud
onto a trailer covered with snow
that fell overnight, predicted
that the ditch witch slid off of the first time
nearly smashing into John
she's thinking a modest apartment
with an alley view
in a liberal, progressive community, 
cultural venues by the boatload, 
surrounded by people who have been in therapy
no concern about running out of water
neighbors shooting at the devil
rabid republicans
fulminating fundamentalists
is beginning to look appealing
her country gal era may be over
 
Chorus
oh, she's singing the ditch witch blues
yes, she's crying the ditch witch blues
time might be right to hit the road tonight
because she's singing the ditch witch blues
 
but
the silence is nice
mountain views spectacular
you can see the stars
John has plenty of space for his treasures
but 
the roads are abominable
the dust never ends
and there's the water problem
 
Chorus
oh, she's singing the ditch witch blues
yes, she's crying the ditch witch blues
time might be right to hit the road tonight
because she's singing the ditch witch blues

Little Sparrows

 I love dem little sparrows
They talk is very sweet
They greet me in the morning
And tweet and tweet and tweet

They are so very happy
We should be more like them
And jump and dance and greet the day
With songs of endless  
Joy!

Next Time


Next life time I’m going to be a truck driver
Long distance with a sleep compartment in the back
I’ll drive from Alaska to Argentina
The roads might be better
or they might not be there at all

After that I’ll be a world famous theoretical physicist
brilliant, a genius, published
I’ll figure out what it’s all about
through incredibly complicated math
I’ll talk in formulas

After that I’ll be a world famous rock and roll star
or maybe a jazz bass player
or maybe Janis Joplin
or was that my previous lifetime?


​Old Friend

Picture
​We talk on the couch
after she arrives
catching up.
On our way to Nash D'Amico's
we talk all the while.
Through pasta and 
salad we never stop.
On to the Bolivar ferry
to sight dolphins.
The wind blows. 
Seagulls fly overhead.
The Gulf waves gray green.
We take in impressions
and talk.

Back in the Mercedes
with the old classy smell
we talk on 
without stopping.

Over tea on the couch
we continue
till shadows grow long
then say our goodbyes
hug
reunited at last.
​

New Cut Grass

Lazy July evenings stretch forever.

Dad cuts grass and catches it in an old canvass hopper,
the dog barking at the wheels of the lawn mower.
Tops of clover and chopped dandelion make grass salad.
I run across the cool grass in my bare feet,
honey bees gone home for the day.

Lightening bugs wink off and on.
I bring my hand up under one and watch it wink atop my finger
then put it in a baby food jar with holes punched in the top
to keep it for a while.

The fragrance of the orange blossom bush by the kitchen window sweetens the dense, humid air.

Dust from the alley blows by
from a passing car.

In the park kids yell and peddle bikes
around the wooden floor of the band pavilion
where I walk in a circle in my home made hoop skirt,
passing the baton until is stops at me and I win the coconut cake.

I fall asleep atop the covers, ventilator in the window. The band plays  its last Sousa march
and distant rumble of thunder hugs
the spider web of my dreams.

First Big Teenage Love

Remember we used to dance crazy, 
drink beer at fraternity parties,
​neck in the student lounge behind closed doors?

We met in the dining hall as cafeteria workers
In white uniforms and unbecoming hairnets
Your goofy faces somehow attractive to me.

We partied our way through my sophomore year
My grades suffered but gee it was fun.

We met in the next lifetime by accident
In a gas station
When I was Miss Corporate America
After you had divorced the sweetheart you left me for.

But the second time I sent you
The Dear John Letter.
​

Howard's Scented Gum

We wear penny loafers,
no socks, and Villagers skirts,
pull cigarettes from
the underwear drawer and roar out to
The White Oaks Dance Hall in
Geraldine's father's 1958 rose and
cream Pontiac station wagon.

We smoke, front windows rolled down
in the dead of winter.
The smell of stale cigarette smoke,
musty rest rooms
greets us at the entrance.

The fee is fifty cents and a hand stamp.
We puff cigarettes non-stop. After all,
that's one of the reasons we go to the dance,
so we can be smokestacks.
Dancing and smoking to the
Detroit sound of The Magnificent Men,
Smoking and dancing.

My dad picks us up
when we can't get Geraldine's father's car.
He says, your clothes smell terrible.
I say, a lot of kids smoke, it's awful
And chomp away on a wad of Howard's Scented Gum.
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