ENGAGEMENT DAY:

DOMESTIC POEMS

THE DIGITAL EDITION

TERRY McCARTY

CAFETERIA
Im sitting by myself
in an almost empty company cafeteria.
Im eating a sandwich
which consists of white turkey meat,
mustard, one tomato and one leaf of lettuce
on two slices of wheat bread.
My beverage is a diet cola.
My dessert is a cup of plain yogurt.
My meal break lasts only thirty minutes.
Almost ten minutes are gone.
In those ten minutes,
I left my cubicle,
used the restroom,
took the elevator
to the cafeteria on the 18th floor,
waited for the food service employee
to prepare my sandwich
and waited behind two other people
before I was able to pay the cashier.
Now I have only twenty minutes
to finish my meal,
use the restroom
and return to my cubicle on time.
While finishing my sandwich,
I read a brochure from a company
which specializes in selling
theater, concert and amusement park tickets
at a discount to corporate employees.
I look at the events on sale:
Cirque du Soleil,
The Lord of the Rings laser show,
Harry Potter On Ice.

Even with the discounts,

the tickets are still expensive.
My family and I will have to settle
for the discount movie ticketsalthough they cant be used
until the third week of the movies run.
As I consume my soda and yogurt,
I look out the window at the shoppers
walking away from a nearby outdoor mall.
One day, Id like to come downtown
an hour early and do some shopping before work.
Unfortunately, Im not young anymore.
Im a husband and a father.
Society expects me to be a responsible adult.
I dont feel all that responsible, though.
Why am I working six days a week
for two weeks out of every month?
Why am I not at home helping
my kids with their homework?
Why am I not driving my son
to his soccer matches?
The answer is simple:
money.
Two Saturdays a month
means plenty of overtime pay,
which-on top of my regular salaryprovides a financial cushion
in case of emergencies
or other unexpected events.
Still, I cant help but realize
that all the money in the world
is no substitute for time spent
being a good parent.

Two Saturdays a month

of overtime workno matter how lucrativeeventually add up to
a lot of wasted time.
I look at my watch;
theres only five minutes left.
I dump the remainder of my dinner
into the nearest trash receptacle
and hurry for the elevator.
As I enter the elevator,
an unwanted memory
appears in my head.
When I was in college,
I took a photography course.
I received an A.
I briefly thought about a career
in photojournalism.
Everyonemy parents, my college counselor,
my then-girlfriend-said
DONT DO IT!
Finish your Business majortheres more money in it.
One day, youll thank us for this advice.
Upon returning to my cubicle,
I imagine the life I could have lived
if only I had listened to myself
all those years ago.

SEX IN NEW MEXICO

For over an hour,
we could hear the cover band
in the motel courtyard next door
playing a mixture of Mariachi music
and Billy Joel favorites.
Then, the music faded away
as we put on our helmets
and other protective gear
and climbed on a bicycle-built-for-twoproceeding to ride all around our small suite.
We pedaled hard and fast until
we collapsed on the bed
in a state of pleasant exhaustion.
As we lay in bed,
we talked about bicycling.
My Significant Other told me
its a much better ride
when you keep your hands off the handlebars.
Something to look forward to trying, I thought
to myself as the cover band next door
launched into a version of KEEPING THE FAITH.

UNDER THE FLIGHT PATH

Its 2:00 p.m.
An airplane flies over our house.
Our kitten squeals in terror.
She jumps off the living room sofa,
hides under the coffee table
and looks up at me with eyes that say,
Make the noise go away!
Unfortunately, theres nothing I can do.
A year ago,
a realtor sold me this house
for what seemed to be a bargain price.
I was elated.
The house was old,
but it was in good condition.
The neighbors were,
for the most part,
quite friendly.
Then, one day,
I learned why the house
was sold at a bargain.
The Van Nuys Airport
decided to throw open its arms
to movie stars and other VIPs
eager to fly their private planes
whenever they pleased
rather than suffer the inconvenience
of waiting for takeoff
from a large airport
such as Los Angeles International.
As a result,
airplanes fly over our house

at all hours of the day and night.

I installed noise-resistant glass
wherever I could-to little avail.
I phoned the realtor
and asked him,
in a none-too-pleasant voice,
why I wasnt informed
that my neighborhood was chosen
as a flight path for the rich and famous.
He muttered something about
not being obligated to do so,
then he hung up.
Its 2:05 p.m.
Our kitten is back on the sofa.
Everything is peaceful again.
If Im lucky,
a plane wont fly over our neighborhood
for another fifteen minutes or so.
These days, Im grateful for small pleasures.

WAITING
Its 1:00 p.m. on Saturday.
Ive been up since 9:00 a.m.
I ate breakfast.
I took a shower.
I went to the market.
I washed a load of laundry.
I look at your bedroom door.
It remains closed.
Youre still asleepand I dont know what to do.
I cant bear to see you suffer.
It hurts me when you constantly allow
temporary setbacks to turn into
the type of depression
that makes you unable to think,
unable to move,
unable to accomplish anything.
When youre in this state of sadness,
Im unable to do anything right.
If I try to cheer you up,
you respond with verbal tirades.
If I say nothing,
you begin to cry and
accuse me of abandoning you
in your time of need.
As a result,
I feel like giving up.
Its your life, I tell myself.
If you want my help,
youll ask me.
Otherwise, Ill just stay
out of your way

until your depression lifts

and youre able to face the world again.
Its 1:15 p.m.
I turn on the living room TV,
hoping to find a few moments
of escape from reality.
I glance at a photograph
that hangs on our living room wall.
It was taken a few years ago
when we vacationed at Harrahs Lake Tahoe.
In the photograph, we smile; you hold my hand.
We look like the happiest couple in the world.
I miss the kind, gentle person you once were.
Perhaps, one day, that person will return to me.

TELEMARKETERS
It happens every night at dinner.
The phone rings.
I answer.
Theres a slight pause before
the person on the other end
says Hello.
Telemarketers.
Again.
For a few seconds,
I allow the call to continue.
I feel sorry for telemarketers.
I can imagine what it might be like
to be verbally abused by people
who fervently want to be left alone.
I can also imagine what it might be like
to be a telemarketer driven over the edge
by rejection.
He or she might pound a fist on a desk
in rage or frustration until the supervisor
orders him or her to go homethe first step towards termination.
My mood changes.
This is my home.
Im in the middle of dinner.
I say Goodbye and hang up the phone.
Peace.
Again.
Until tomorrow..

HOUSEHUSBAND
You kiss me in my state of partial wakefulness
as you go off to work early in the morning.
The rest of the day I have to myself.
Breakfast with the LOS ANGELES TIMES.
Household chores such as vacuuming.
A break to watch an afternoon soap opera
(Why cant Sonny and Alexis stay together?).
More household chores: taking out all the trash
and recyclables.
Lunch: a fruit bar and a can of Slim-Fast.
A trip to Ralphs market where the teenage
clerk ignores me because shes much
more interested in flirting with the bagboy.
A trip to Blockbuster Video where the teenage
salesclerk advises me that I might be too old
to appreciate the comic brilliance of CORKY ROMANO.
Home to prepare dinner:
two perfect Gardenburgers and a low-fat Caesar salad.
At 5:30 p.m., you come through the door
and all my days events are forgotten
as you tell me how the system crashed at work
and you crave nothing but love and understanding.
I smile at you and give you a hug.
Thats what househusbands are for, I say.

ENGAGEMENT DAY
We were led into a small room.
There was plenty of air conditioningHeaven on Earth for penguins.
Unfortunately, we were humans
and the November day was already cold.
The salesperson gave us chocolate-covered
graham crackers and designer water to consume.
After the consumption ended,
we sat in our chairs waiting for
the end of the sales pitch
and the restoration of our freedom.
Do you want to upgrade to our most expensive ring?
No.
Would you like to sign up for our credit card?
Yes.
Do you want to buy anything else?
Not today.
And so it continued,
until the sale was finally consummated.
We were led out of the small room.
As we emerged into the main store,
we were told to stand against the wall.
It was time for a Polaroid photothe latest for a wall of portraits
of happy couples on the road to matrimony.
We put our arms around each other
and smiled for the camera.
This is how the rest of our lives began.

IT HAPPENS EVERY SPRING

I lie awake in bed, watching you sleep.
Your red hair, your perfect faceEverything about you delights me.
I rejoice in being your husband.
Im happy to remember a spring night
Four years ago when you sent an Instant Message
Out of nowhere, expressing a desire to talk to me.
I had given up on love and friendship at that time.
I knew that love existed in the world
For everyone but me.
After a few minutes, you convinced me that life
Shouldnt be wasted anymore.
Every spring night, I look at you as you sleep.
I cherish the memories of our four years together
And I know there will be wonderful times ahead.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terry McCarty was born in Electra, Texas
on July 31, 1959. He has lived in California
since 1988. He has been a writer and performer
of poetry/spoken word since 1998. He has been a featured poet at these
venues:
Midnight Special Bookstore (Santa Monica, CA),
Coffee Cartel (Redondo Beach, CA),
Gypsy Den Grand Central (Santa Ana, CA),
Borders Bookstores (Santa Monica and Pasadena, CA),
Sacred Grounds Coffee House (San Pedro, CA),
Cobalt Caf (Canoga Park, CA),
Exile Books and Music (Sherman Oaks, CA),
Alley Kat Caf (San Gabriel, CA),
the Rapp Saloon (Santa Monica, CA)
and Beyond Baroque (Venice, CA).
He has also appeared in Lynda and Lisa LaRoses
THE POETRY SPIRAL at Luna Sol Caf
in Los Angeles, CA,
Roni Walters BAKSTREEET COMETRI at
The Comedy Store in West Hollywood, CA,
the Austin International Poetry Festival
in Austin, TX and at readings in Northern California
and Las Vegas, NV.
Chapbooks include: HOLLYWOOD POETRY, BORN TO WALK,
WICHITA FALLS, USE YOUR DELUSION and
INSUFFICIENT GRAVITAS.
For news of upcoming projects,
send e-mail to TerryMcCa@aol.com.
Visit the POETRY-ARTS CONFIDENTIAL blog at
http://poetry-arts-confidential.blogspot.com