Dreaming

Fucked Up

 

In little apartments

each two stories high

isolated from everything

white with rich brown roofs

surrounded by gray flowers

everything looks alike

All but the numbers above each door

Lit up by lights

For it is just past eleven tonight

 

there's a store just around the corner

a small one at that

with a name you can barely make out

everyone just calls it

 

"The Shop"

 

an ice box in back

full of ice-cubes in bags

small rows of bread and a refrigerator

with milk, juice, and eggs

at the counter there's an old man

white and groggy

very little hair

a long thin beard reaching just past his chest

wrinkled skin and tired eyes

from hours of pointless work

 

two rows from where I stood

a little old woman picks up each loaf of bread

one by one

placing each one exactly where she found it

deciding she didn't want any of them

she moves on to the row where the ice box stood

 

The old man rings up my items

one by one

 

[as I watch the old lady do the same to the ice bags

as she did to the bread]

 

One loaf of rye bread

$0.30

One half gallon of whole milk

$0.50

One bag of ice

$0.20

And one of those scented sticks behind the counter

$0.05

 

I give the man my dollar and a stray nickel

I found laying on the ground today

taking my two bags I walk out of

 

"The Shop"

 

Following the same old broken side-walk
back to the apartments as I did each week

Counting every crack

even the ones closest together

I stopped to count those too

 

[the street light flickered]

 

Exactly seven cars sat on

the left side of the road

All a boring black

Never leaving their spot

As if someone else would take

their precious every day space

 

Sulking my way up the creaking stairs

The smell of must engulfs the

Atmosphere

Causing me to stop

and sneeze a number of times

 

Down the hall footsteps emerge

[the Staff]

Quietly but quickly I run to my door

[room 6]

Noisily jabbing my key into the rusty key-hole

Afraid of what they may do this time

Out past curfew and things go horribly wrong

--Punishment--

Could be a number of things

 

Hurriedly

I open and close the door behind myself

Locking the dead-bolts instantly

 

Not even five seconds later

The pounding begins

 

That horrible pounding

of fists on the door

and voices

Wretched voices

 

Finding the counter

[they turned my power off again]

With a flashlight from the drawer

Setting the bags down

And slamming the keys on the hook

 

I run for my room

And hide in the corner

Waiting

Wishing

Hoping

That they don’t find a way in

 

 

[i woke up...]

Reviews

[Nocturne]

Hi there,

I'm not sure if you are interested in critique on the poem, but I noticed a couple things. My first pseudo-critique would be that reading a centered poem is just so annoying. And yes, this is very much a personal (and biased) opinion, (as is anything in this comment!) but it's based both on reading a lot of poetry and on what editors prefer when you send in poems for potential publications. Centered poems may look more "poetic" but many readers get irritated by the format and that negatively affects the read.

Structure aside, I felt that the emotions were very powerful, but I almost wish I could "see" what you're talking about better. Certainly you use imagery well. However, what I feel I lack is context. For example, Out "past curfew and things go horribly wrong" - at this point, I'm at a slight loss. Yes I can imagine what could go horribly wrong, but wouldn't it be so much stronger if I could "see" it? (an aside: you repeat "horrible" several times in the poem. An alt. word?).

Certainly one shouldn't want the poem to "tell" the reader everything. That would be boring. But, sometimes, as a reader, I don't really wish to recreate my own world - I want to experience something new. Maybe the poem could be a little more open in letting the reader in on what's going on. Usually a concrete context helps a reader relate to the story/situation of a poem more.

Overall, I think you have something great working here. The poem works on creating a tone and narrator's semi-formal voice that really allows the reader to feel a connection. Yes, I would have enjoyed it more if it was more focused on pulling me in and engaging my imagination (the senses, and whatnot), but as it, it's a great foundation and a solid piece with an attention to details and an emotional focus.

I wish you the best of luck writing (and revising if you chose to)!

Cheers for the read,
Naiya

PS. Is the title meant to be "dreaming"?