Issue 14, December 1997
Ben Ohmart - Poem

I'll listen to grandpa
talk about the Porto Ricans
spell it just like that
they've taken over the neighborhood
property's gone done
there's no downtown anymore
you can't walk
you don't feel safe
you can drive by
but you pick the streets
with few lights and lives and stops
each Christmas a new set of Sinatra
and new gimmicks to make a few years
go quietly
he's 71
best was the handheld tv
also the tv you plug into the lighter
in the car
great for coming and going from church
then, just because you love God
you don't have to miss the tennis scores
chews cinnamon gum sticks
complains about his back, hip really
whenever I call the first thing is
the weather
is it hot there
it's hot here
he was out yesterday cutting the lawn
also cutting half the bushes down
so he doesn't have to go up that 
damn ladder when they really start to grow
it's July
I'll come and maybe take in a movie
but it's the only time he ever goes
likes to be with people
we never talk about out of reality
people problems politics bills money
there is no love health emotions poetry
I don't blame him for anything
he didn't go to college
proud of it
now he's got more money than I do
has no credit card
and I'm $77k in debt
he gives my father and I about
3 grand a year
he was a bricklayer
made $12 an hour
and this was back when
the wages were slave, raw, unconditioned
he must've saved
he must've stooped to pick up a penny
I throw my cans away
he has a basement
sits in it when I call
it's cooler down there
no lights
all of the things the neighbors
gave him sit around him
5 bikes, 3 snow blowers and mowers
fans pieces of cart shelves pieces of cabinets
we'll ride the neighborhood
he points out all the rails 
he made for his neighbors
complains that all he got was a thank you
how much the material costs
how pro the work
still does it if asked
loved the same woman for 50+ years
still married
seems like there's a direct relation
in the quality of life
to the downfall of man