What I Know

This is a list poem.  Some of you might have to Google the pop cultural references.

 —By Susan Walsh

I know the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, sometimes in the same day

I know the Wide World of Sports, Dick Van Dyke, Beverly Hillbillies—

the world I grew up in is nothing but a pop cultural curiosity

even to me.

I know sleep is overrated. Food is not.

I know machines should not autocorrect humans—especially when they somehow confuse rollerskating with Amsterdam.

I know I couldn’t solve an algebraic equation to save my life and that would be a stupid reason to die.

I know I had a misspent youth. And I wish I regretted it.

I know how it feels to put the last $5.00 I have to my name into gas for the car.

And I’m glad I know.

I know what the stars look like 100 miles from city lights and the city lights don’t hold a candle.

I know South Beach is everything they say it is, Hollywood is seedy, Santa Monica has been invaded by armies of homeless but still has great restaurants,

and LA is a fake world built on a fault.

And all of it is temporary.

I know what I don’t want to be when I grow up and what I do want to be—and so far I’m doing both.

I know animals have emotions and are more honest than humans.

I know Lucinda Baker has a centipede in her laundry room, Evelyn Allen had sushi for lunch

and my daughter was at a nightclub in downtown Pontiac—not at her friend’s house like she said.

I know there are as many realities as there are people.

I know how hard my husband works every day to stay alive and I appreciate the effort.

I know I am the weed that grows between the cracks in the concrete, hanging on no matter what.

(C)  Susan Walsh 2013