DUANE ANDERSON - POEMS

Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE, and volunteers with a non-profit organization as a Donor Ambassador on their blood drives.  He has had poems published in The Pangolin Review, Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, Poesis Literary Journal and several other publications. He is the author of ‘Yes, I Must Admit We Are Neighbors’ (Cyberwit.net - 2021).

Out of Order

Six washers, sitting side by side,
all of the same make and model,
three in working order, with the other
three each wearing ‘Out of Order’ signs,
signs laminated with white letters on a blue  

background intended to be used multiple time for the
unending problems occurring with these machines,
and their long wait time before getting repaired.
Quickly scanning the other rows of washers and 
dryers in the other aisles of the laundromat, 

I find each washer and dryer had been assigned with
a number rather than giving each one a proper name,
like Busted, or Neglected, or Crippled, or Defective.
Many of the other machines sported the same decor,
with the ‘Out of Order’ sign sometimes taped to the side, 

while other times taped on the top.
I did not bother tallying all the washers and dryers
identified as not being in working order,
but quickly noted an epidemic was taking place, 
slowly contaminating the machines, one by one.

Even the third washer that I was using,
after plugging in the appropriate number of quarters, 
finished first for whatever reason before
the other two which each had an earlier head start,
shorting me the minutes I paid for.

I would have to trust that it got those clothes as
clean as the other two machines, but maybe it was
telling me it was the beginning of another disorder,
indicating this machine would be next 
to sadly display the ever present ‘Out of Order’ sign.

​

Discount Department Store Shopping
​

The clerk asked me if I was finding everything
alright as I pushed my cart down the aisle of a
large discount department store even though

my shopping cart was completely empty.
I guess everything was going just right
if it was my way of getting in my morning walk,

pushing an empty cart up and down the aisles,
or if I was a magician and had caused the items
I was going to purchase to magically disappear,

but I had just started my shopping and had yet to reach
the area where I hoped to find the items I was looking for,
which to my dismay, found they were all out of on this trip,

but instead of going home right away,
I thought, oh what the hell, I might as well get
some benefit from my futile effort and

decided to get my morning walk in after all,
since it was sixty degrees warmer inside the store
than it was outside in the frigid winter wonderland.


​

Car Lot People

Somehow these neighbors liked their vehicles
with two cars in the garage,
three others in the driveway,
and two along the side of their house.
No matter how many times I walked by
it always looked like they were having a party
or maybe had a large family
with several children old enough to drive,
except I had only ever seen the two of them,
a husband and wife living in the house.

Another observation about the vehicles,
as strange as it may be,
was that they only seemed to use three of them.
The other four vehicles didn’t ever seem to get moved,
so why did they have them, maybe for show,
but still the reason remains unknown.
So I assigned them a name of my own making.
I call them the Car Lot people
since I do not know their names,
and they live several blocks from me.

They could be storing some of the cars
for some friends and relatives I guess,
but if they do, I can only hope 
they charge enough for their troubles, 
especially in winter when they scrape
the frost off the windows, or brush the snow off
and get into a cold car.
Whatever the reason for having all the vehicles,
it is a part of their life and choosing.
As for me, I choose to keep the car I drive
safely in our garage each night.
I too have my own priorities.

​

Mrs. Crabby Appleton

I walked my dog by a neighbor’s home,
several blocks away from where we lived,
as we turned the corner and travelled
a few more houses one street over,
I noticed a lady driving her car
on the wrong side of the street
and I wondered what the hell she was doing
as she pulled over by the curb near us.
At first, I thought that maybe she was lost
and needed directions to some street
in the neighborhood, but I was wrong.

Instead, she started scolding me
as if I had done something wrong,
telling me she didn’t want my dog peeing on her grass,
as if an occasional dog pee was going to kill it,
especially when they had an automatic
sprinkler system installed in their yard, 
but it wasn’t something that my dog was guilty of doing
on her grass that day anyway.
She had only walked on the grass,
but then I guess that was a sin too.

So each time on future walks when going down that street
I walked on the other side of the street
or made sure my dog didn’t stray from the sidewalk 
so not to upset her again.
Maybe my dog would pee on their sidewalk if she had to go,
but at least that wouldn’t be on their grass, after all,
she never said anything about peeing on their sidewalk.

Also, on future walks I was always tempted  
to greet her by calling her Mrs. C. A.,
and not letting her know that the C.A.,
the name I had assigned specifically for her,
stood for Crabby Appleton,
the unsavory cartoon character, 
and arch-foe of Tom Terrific 
that I used to watch on the Captain Kangaroo 
television show when I was growing up.

Crabby Appleton was rotten to the core
doing a bad deed every day
and couldn’t stand anyone having fun.
I’m not saying I was like Tom Terrific,
because I was no saint myself,
but if she would ever ask me what C.A. stood for
I would just smile and walk on,
me knowing the secret meaning of the initials,
and glad for one other small miracle,
that she wasn’t my neighbor living directly next door.

​