Living the Mid-Western Dream

[ChristopherSea]

final version

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

The sultry air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro bounces
on the scorching asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a sun-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hurries home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits.
The trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home
before his lunch was ready.

As night falls, her willowy arms,
mottled purple, labor
with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec/bena edit 4 Thanks again folks!



----------------------------------
fog/tec edit 3/version3.0

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec edit 3/version3.0 Thanks again folks!

-----------------------------------
almost version

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
fog edit2/version 2.5

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


-------------------------------------------------------------
(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!

[ChristopherSea]

Thanks so much for reading this poem and sharing your observations and suggestions. I will take them under consideration. I shall address some of your queries: New world birds- yes pigeons and vultures. I knew that putricine and cadaverine would get in someone’s crawl, but they should be easy to understand from their roots (putrid and cadaver). I will identify the teen as the mom better, thanks for pointing that out. The driver of the Mustang is the boy friend. Yes she is being 'chased'/taunted. Taunts could substitute, but 'charges' goes with 'mustang'. Dirty faces is good, but I am borrowing the pun for 'dirty years' from Gregory Corso. Sure cars hiss and spit, from leaky radiators. Spit also characterizes her man. I will make that 'her somnolent squint'. Tired eyes? Very boring and cliche, but I'll consider substitutes. The lines you had trouble with: The sun sets on this day and its chronic scene, but tomorrow will be the same. I had climates, but I thought climes flowed better. Much obliged for the read and recommendations fogglethorpe. All worthwhile and several incorporated in version 2.0. I even gave you back putricine, ha ha./Chris

[ChristopherSea]

Thanks for your thoughtful explanation. I thought you meant a Ford Mustang..is her boyfriend "rust infected"?

I see you are a literal man. I meant the dude in the mustang. Don't let me confuse you, ha ha. It should read better now in fog/edit version 2.0!/Chris

[ChristopherSea]

Got it. Sorry for the confusion.

Me too, no problem!

[Leanne]

Off topic comments removed. This is Serious Workshopping. The forum rules clearly state:

All posts should be directly related to criticism/analysis/improvement of the original post, the poem. From time to time it is expected that a discussion will arise from a point made in a comment. If it becomes apparent that comments are addressing other comments rather than the original post, a moderator will either move these posts to a new discussion thread in Poetry Discussion -- or for more robust discussion, to The Pig's Arse -- or, if necessary, the moderator will ask that further comments cease altogether. If, as the originator of a thread, you feel that your poem has been "hijacked" or that discussion has moved in a direction you are uncomfortable with, please send a PM to one of the moderators of this forum. It is not appropriate to engage in argument in a Critique forum.

/admin

[tectak]

final version
Hi CS,
This is the song of the fat lady
Just a few nits
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady To open with ellipses implies that the opening italics should be read as part of the piece. Otherwise how long do we pause before starting If I am right, I think you could conjoin the italicised lines to the main piece more effectively. I make no suggestions as to how but as it is is reeks of contrivance
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed. a little over-reaching because of the and and
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. Though I instinctively like this I don't see any advantage in the enigmatic "winged new world scavengers" when pigeons and vultures are better images. It is a bit like "quadrupedded lamina of lignum" instead of wooden table.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt. torrid is suspect
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench. Puzzling in its pictorial veracity. Leaves questions not answers. The bench modifier seems superfluous if not gratuitous if not contrived.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint. Somnolent is suspect

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme I want theme to be scene.
and the forecast of climes I want climes to be weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
version 2.5
The concept is fine, the imagery is worthy. For me, and who am I, the use of clever terminology is unnatural in the piece and breeches the fabric so much that you, the writer, can be seen through the holes. It is disconcerting. This is me liking it.
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


-------------------------------------------------------------
(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!

[ChristopherSea]

final version
Hi CS,
This is the song of the fat lady
Just a few nits
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady To open with ellipses implies that the opening italics should be read as part of the piece. Otherwise how long do we pause before starting If I am right, I think you could conjoin the italicised lines to the main piece more effectively. I make no suggestions as to how but as it is is reeks of contrivance
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed. a little over-reaching because of the and and
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. Though I instinctively like this I don't see any advantage in the enigmatic "winged new world scavengers" when pigeons and vultures are better images. It is a bit like "quadrupedded lamina of lignum" instead of wooden table.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt. torrid is suspect
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench. Puzzling in its pictorial veracity. Leaves questions not answers. The bench modifier seems superfluous if not gratuitous if not contrived.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint. Somnolent is suspect

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme I want theme to be scene.
and the forecast of climes I want climes to be weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
version 2.5
The concept is fine, the imagery is worthy. For me, and who am I, the use of clever terminology is unnatural in the piece and breeches the fabric so much that you, the writer, can be seen through the holes. It is disconcerting. This is me liking it.
Best,
tectak
An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


-------------------------------------------------------------
(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!

Yes, a poem is never finished when there is a fresh critique to consider. Thank you kindly for giving this poem some consideration and sparking some new edits fo me. Agreed, I can do without the ellipsis and I will consider all of those alternate vocabulary substitutions to dumb it down for the masses. 'Scene' is better than 'theme'! Much obliged, my friend and master poet!

A new edit is up, cheers!

[bena]

I know you've already be working on this but I thought I'd drop in and give you a few of my thoughts.

(hope you don't mind that I'm late to the party)

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Turkey Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.



Overall, it's very strong and nearly perfected, just my 2 cents on suggestions. You know how much 2 cents is worth these days.

mel.

[ChristopherSea]

I know you've already be working on this but I thought I'd drop in and give you a few of my thoughts.

(hope you don't mind that I'm late to the party)

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Turkey Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.



Overall, it's very strong and nearly perfected, just my 2 cents on suggestions. You know how much 2 cents is worth these days.

mel.

Thanks so much Melanie for reading this and making some good points. That's at least $2 worth! I like the sultry air change. Yes, that is the boyfriend almost running her down as he heads home from the unemployment office. I think you are right about the elipsises. I intended using them for time lapse between her getting home and her beating, which is valid usage, but I can do without. Thank you, I'll have your credited edit up soon. Always grateful for your insights!/Chris

[tectak]

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

The sultry air is heady Much improved already
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures No purpose in capitalising a nameless bird
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. I like the tongueeness of this...it sounds better than it is but it is none the worse for that

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt. typo
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench. No. sun-blistered, heat-blistered, blistered paint, but NOT paint-blistered

The anxious mother hastens home hurries is better. hastens implies speed by prompt rather than by desire. Also " The harrassed mother hurries home" seems like a ripe plum
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun still andy
into her tired squint.She has a squint?? No to this. "into her half-shut eyes..." Half shut gives you tired and squinting against brightness in an understandable and clear image. We all do it...too clever is stupid so keep it simple.

Sure enough, he was home
and his lunch was not ready. Try to cut off your ands for a day

As night falls, willowy arms, her willowy arms
mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
Darkness snuffs out this inveterate scene,
along with the promise
of a change in the weather" Your poem
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1 Thanks again folks!
It is a very good edit. I like that you are holding firm on some of your thinking and not just rolling over to the crits. That is as it shoud be. My nits today are small...take'em or leave'em...I know you will.
Best,
tectak


----------------------------------
fog/tec edit 3/version3.0

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec edit 3/version3.0 Thanks again folks!

-----------------------------------
almost version

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
fog edit2/version 2.5

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


-------------------------------------------------------------
(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!

[ChristopherSea]

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

The sultry air is heady Much improved already
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures No purpose in capitalising a nameless bird
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails. I like the tongueeness of this...it sounds better than it is but it is none the worse for that

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt. typo
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench. No. sun-blistered, heat-blistered, blistered paint, but NOT paint-blistered

The anxious mother hastens home hurries is better. hastens implies speed by prompt rather than by desire. Also " The harrassed mother hurries home" seems like a ripe plum
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun still andy
into her tired squint.She has a squint?? No to this. "into her half-shut eyes..." Half shut gives you tired and squinting against brightness in an understandable and clear image. We all do it...too clever is stupid so keep it simple.

Sure enough, he was home
and his lunch was not ready. Try to cut off your ands for a day

As night falls, willowy arms, her willowy arms
mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
Darkness snuffs out this inveterate scene,
along with the promise
of a change in the weather" Your poem
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec/bena edit 4/version3.1 Thanks again folks!
It is a very good edit. I like that you are holding firm on some of your thinking and not just rolling over to the crits. That is as it shoud be. My nits today are small...take'em or leave'em...I know you will.
Best,
tectak

No, most of them are valid points tectak, especailly all of those typos!
----------------------------------
fog/tec edit 3/version3.0

The unemployment office closes early
and Motor City files for bankruptcy.

It’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather, garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Pigeons and Vultures
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the scortching asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a paint-blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her tired squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

fog/tec edit 3/version3.0 Thanks again folks!

-----------------------------------
almost version

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate scene
and the forecast of weather
being any different tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------
fog edit2/version 2.5

An unemployment office closes early;
the Motor City files for bankruptcy…

…it’s sultry and the air is heady
with scents of heather and garbage
and sporadic wafts of local weed.
Winged New World scavengers
shrug off cadaverine dreams
to loop the day’s chemtrails.

A glowing Marlboro
bounces on the torrid asphalt.
A rust-infected Mustang charges
a teen mother clad in seasonal
cut-offs, tank-top and flip-flops,
breastfeeding her infant
on a blistered bench.

The anxious mother hastens home
past throngs of skinned knees
and dirty ears, up a gravel drive
where the Ford hisses and spits
and trailers reflect midday sun
into her somnolent squint.

Sure enough, he was home,
but his lunch was not ready…

…her willowy arms, mottled purple,
labor with the torn screen door.
Daylight retreats, snuffing out
this inveterate theme
and the forecast of climes
being any different tomorrow.


-------------------------------------------------------------
(This poem is not making editorial on or stereotyping the Mid-West.
This scenario is universal. It was Detroit filing for bankruptcy
that prompted the title and venue. Remember, the poem is not the poet.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
fog/edit version 2.5 Thank you!