This is part of a new series of ten poems, where each one is going to be sparked by an exact quote from someone I know. The quote is something they wrote, said, shouted or whispered. It then moves beyond the quote and I make up my own story or add my own thoughts. Similarities to people real or imagined are real or imagined.
"People will complain about anything," she said, and she's right.
The current issue is potholes, on the city streets and alleys
wreaking havoc on people getting to and from work
resulting in car repairs and expenses
unforeseen even though
they tried to swerve.
She talks about how she never wanted to be a Nordstrom woman
and how despite herself
she notices
mauve and grey in her wardrobe
and we laugh
and I agree there's stereotypes out there
and listen to the shrill reminder that there are
unheard voices, unmet needs:
it's time to start blowing the whistle.
We discuss artists and grants.
She encourages me to call my local Alderman or Alderwoman.
I agree the community needs to speak out,
and it needs to at least be on their
list.
They can swerve all they want.
Tax dollars are their vehicle
and there's no bumps on the road
for that.