I will give up writing poems for Lent.
I will give up eating desserts for Lent.I will give up sex for Lent.
I will give up thinking about sex for Lent.
I will give up lying for Lent.
I will give up bragging for Lent.
I will give up exaggerating for Lent.
I will give up self-centeredness for Lent.
I will give up self-denial for Lent.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, March 5, 2014 (Ash Wednesday)
“Well, technically you are obese.”
(This followed by a stunned silence…)
“But I’m just twelve pounds over my
ideal weight for a man my size!”
“Your Body Mass Index is more
than ideal: 26.4.”
(She is quite small, from India–
the size of a fasting Gandhi.)
“I just want you to be healthy.
How much exercise do you do?”
“I mow the lawn in the summer.”
(I don’t say on a nice tractor…)
“But now, you know, it is winter…”
(Her British accent is a winner.)
“Could you eat smaller meals? Less fats?
Much fewer carbs? And exercise?”
(I think of running up a hill…)
“Could you prescribe a better pill?”
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 26, 2014
Our wedding anniversary
was coming up. My card said, “Free
Pass: you can have one fantasy
night with Michael Jordon! I’ll pay
for the room myself. I can say
I will not have a jealous day.”
The year was 1993–
the three of us were in our prime.
The Bulls were going for a Three-
peat. She would lust for him each time
she saw him playing on TV.
I set the date for their big game…
Her ticket cost one hundred bills,
but she was with Chicago Bulls
and MJ in his shorts, it’s true–
with twenty thousand others, too.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 25, 2014
Sometimes when you’ve been cooped up too long because of winter storms, your memory drifts beyond the snow drifts. You remember your mother and the aroma of fresh baked cookies. It happened this week to little Stevie Shoemaker out on the Illinois prairie.
My mother’s oatmeal lacy cookies
Mash flat with back of small teaspoon
each dab of dough. Cook for eight or
ten minutes at 350. Then
remove from oven, wait for four
long minutes till you slide a wide
steel spatula under each thin
(one rolled oat thick) cookie. Held
together by white/brown sugar,
one egg, one tablespoon of flour,
two sticks (one cup) of real butter,
when cooled are crisp but chewy, brown
around the edges: will not last an hour.– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL
Mother’s oatmeal lacy cookies
Two days ago the fields were white
for not harvest but snow and ice.
The cold front now is to the east
and we have rain and wind and heat
and flooded roads.
…………….. She drove the four-
wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee too fast
and aquaplaned into the ditch,
and then yelled S.O.B.! at him
for telling her it would be much
more safe than her blue Ford…
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 21, 2014
My grandmother would phone the night
it finally bloomed. An ungainly
plant, sparse, with long tendrils, all light
green. Four brothers climb happily
into the car all wearing their
pajamas, excited to see
even an ugly plant. We stare
at the white and gold bloom, and she
smiles, having hope even for me.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 16, 2014
Click HERE for more information and photos of the Night Blooming Cereus. The bloom only lasts one night.
My basement desk is extra large
because my grandfather who gave
it to me was a builder who
rolled out blueprints for many huge
commercial projects on it. Save
for one lamp, it is now piled high.
My double garage had a space
for the riding mower, but it
is now in the new backyard shed.
The room around the hybrid cars
now holds all of the tools that fit
on walls and shelves and floor instead.
Our Storage Unit’s deep and wide.
We can’t remember what’s inside.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 14, 2014
southern drivers in snow
we moved from chicago
in september
…………………the first
snow flake fell in the month
of january
………………we
saw a driver swerve to
miss it and go straight in
the ditch
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 12, 2014
My right hand has a callus where
I hold my iPhone when I read
or type. I’m losing feeling on
my thumb tip where I tap the bare
small screen. My left hand learned to feed
my mouth while I still grip the phone.
My wrist has carpel tunnel pain–
I’m on-line more than off. I reach
inside my pocket more each day
for phone than wallet or a coin,
a penknife, or a handkerchief.
On-line Scrabble is all I play…
Are FaceBook friends my only friends?
Am I alone with just my phone?
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 10, 2014
Old Salem Cemetery
No gaudy spire
of a wealthy patriarch;
no spreading plot of a family
blessed with many offspring.
The bachelor, the single woman,
the infant, the child–each in a choir
that someday will rise up and sing
along with the married folks.
The brass bands gather
and play across the rolling grounds
each Easter morning: trumpet,
trombone, euphonium…harmony.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 9, 2014
Views from the Edge 