Poem #Pros

Just got hung up on.
The man,
who hung up on me,
is hoping that I hire his
marketing firm.

He didn’t even bother to say hello.
Just accepted the call,
and waited for his opportunity to end it.

If he had said hello, he would have realized
it was the person he’s been waiting to hear from.

See,
I’m from away. But, I live here now.
Funny how locals can be brutal to
what they don’t know without knowing
what they’ve just done.

I could decide not to need his services.
Now that I’ve been hung up on.

But I’m not like that.
I’d rather chip through the hardened mud
and help to show that people from away
are just as good as the good locals.

And I’m not changing my number.

-M. Taggart

Poem

My 90-year-old Grandmother commented
on a poem that I dedicated to my father-

She wrote,
“No comment–Not sure what to say.”

Which was brilliant.

Though my father was not her son,
she felt my agony. She knows the man
her daughter had married
and loved at one point,
is now dead.

And she is not.

I found my Grandmother’s comment
to be oddly comforting.

Above my office window, stand three letters.
I placed them

As if they don’t matter and can be
moved at any moment.
to be hidden.
Or to charm.

DAD

My son picked them out while
visiting my mother in Masshachussetts.
He painted them blue and red.

It was father’s day weekend.
We dropped Gavin off at my mother’s house.
And drove away,.

while I and Megan went to my father’s celebration of life.

I was sick that weekend. I’m not sure what it was.

But I do like looking out my office window and seeing
DAD

as I look up

-M. Taggart

I will not let you down, Gavin.

Let’s Work At It- Even When We’re Alone. #Poem

I love my country.
Sure, it needs some work.
Just like myself.
And just like every single person.
And even though my rough
spots still need to be smoothed out,
I still love myself.
I remember being surrounded
by men on a hot summer day
while urinating in a bathroom
in inner city Baltimore.
I was alone. I could feel one
man’s breath on my neck
while the others started laughing.
I walked out of that bathroom.
I find Baltimore to be a lucid
example of my love for America.
We all need a bit of work.
It’s OK to admit it.
But what I won’t do is hate it, or myself,
for not being perfect when all the while
I know perfect doesn’t exist.
Baltimore is a gorgeous city.
I can’t wait to go back.
In fact, I have, multiple times.

-M. Taggart

Happy Fourth of July!

Another Ride #Poem

You can come for a ride with me,
but it’s not going to be like most rides.
We’ll find the old dirt roads with
not much to see.
Woods, streams, mountains, and more
dirt roads steadied with ruts and bumps
and dust. The windows will be down.
Wind will stream inside one and out the other.
And the conversation might be about
who visited who in which dream and what
had been said and the possibilities of why.
Or, we won’t talk. Instead we might listen
to the chirping of the birds. Or, if we’re lucky
the rumbling of a thunderstorm will tickle
our imaginations until finally it hits and
the dusty dirt road becomes a slippery mud pit.
If the storm is bad enough, and the wind strong enough,
a few branches might come down, even a tree.
That’s OK though. We have rope and a chain saw,
and besides, the story just got better.
Thanks for coming on these rides, Dad.
Even though you’re gone,
I still talk with you.
Sorry about the yelling-
Sometimes you do feel a bit too far away.

-M. Taggart

Poem up: MasticadoresUSA. ‘Truth to Self’

Truth to Self
by -M. Taggart

Get a job, you bum!
Daddy, why did you say that to that man?
He’s a bum. There’s a help wanted sign right over there.
But why did you say that to that man?
Because he’s a bum and needs a job.
Why though?
Because he needs a job.
Why? What if he’s sick?
I don’t care! I work when I’m sick and you’ll work when you’re sick!

********

Read the entire poem here: ( I invite you to visit and comment )
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/truth-to-self-by-m-taggart/

Thank you to the wonderful author and editor Gabriela Marie Milton for selecting this piece.

ps, the little man in the photo is my son, Gavin 🙂 The conversation in the poem is fictional. Well, sort of, but that’s another story 😉 and had nothing to do with Gavin and I.

Cheers everyone and please be kind. Only cowards kick people when they’re down.

Matt