“Festive Salads Out Store” Tanka 843

Big bonanza – store

can’t sell its Spring Mix lettuces:

adopt – quarter price!


The Downtown Saturday (Not*)

farmers’ market had good cukes!


  • (Except for a very few and not always there vendors, the main vegetable stand at the Magnolia Square Saturday Farmers’ Market is a hoax.  I asked the vendors if their seemingly too-perfect offerings came from Lakeland (the big Publix grocery chain’s main distribution center), and they said “No. We just got them from Tampa (another grocery chain’s main digs) last night.” The owner admitted he was thinking of setting up some his-grown fancy tomatoes and such – his dad held forth at the usual herbs and ornamentals stand across the small square, which steadily has grown to include the rest of Magnolia Avenue from First up to Second Street in its southward march through Sanford (Florida, USA), which means mostly if you want home grown veg, look out your back yard or go explorin’!)


“Six For Sad Tina”

I sat with Tina

on laid-down telephone pole

as she puked and cried.


I saw her naked

dance a couple times – nice legs

but she had nose-runs


The old nekkid-dance

chall had lots of that darkness:



Every so now-then

Tina’d come ’round my old bar

and watch me kill shrimp,


She’d sour a whiskey

while I dipped beer and then soared

into her deep eyes.


And neither of us

ever could answer my quest:

why love a ba*d girl?


  • (The final stanza of haiku about Tina slipped a bon-temps past me: I typed and published “And neither of us/ ever could answer my quest:/ why love a bid girl.  It was supposed to read on that last line: why love a bad girl? I have edited in the change, but when I break out each haiku for its own publishing both versions will appear.  Tina, an actual, real, girl I knew who actually lived in Sanford and worked as a “dancer” and server at the now defunct nude bar Circus Circus just South of the more long-term and more infamous Club Juana, now both delightfully gone to make room for a US. 17-92 and State Road 436 (Semoran Boulevard) overpass, was awash in in bad guys, drugs and defeated women who punished themselves daily and nightly often to keep fatherless children fed and clothed.  And, of course,  if you had a habit or an Ol’e Man who wanted a new bike or some god damned thing and you were his money pit you shrugged yes and went to work and died a little more each day.  The light almost was out of Tina’s eyes when I first met her.  I held the hair out of her face as she puked her guts out sitting on the downed telephone poles that served as parking-lot guides to keep the drunks from driving through the walls.  She’d dome back sometimes to sit across from me in the booth all the way to the back where I’d drink from a pitcher of beer – and occasionally invested with zip-locked ice to keep it cold but not always – and read my books and sometimes play some chess, either against someone who looked a revese-image of me in a mirror I always could beat or someone else.  I hope that long, tall, lady of sorrows found succor and some measure of comfort and trust in herself and others. The memory breaks my heart and the other parts of the story grate still on my last shred of conscience.)

“One Pitcher, One Book”

One pitcher, one book

in a back booth in ‘most light:

Sometimes a chess game.*


  • (My sometime haunt near Titusville, actually in Indian River City, a subsumed portion of the city of titty across from where they Throw Rock(et)s at The Moon, is my second-=fave waterin’ hole in that part of Central Florida: East Mims’ Oasis Bar being the first – they actually put in a small reading lamp in the furthermost table along the front wall of the place Harold’s WineBurger made famous from when it was a place where Kennedy Space Center workers and more than just a few actual astronauts used to stop by after work.  The other places so to accommodate me was Cook’s Corner and Uncle Nick’s in Sanford, though both had enough extra light to make reading or playing chess sans extra illumination just fine.  Sometimes I’d get sent back to the back booth at Nick’s for toward behavior or general boorishness but always with a pitcher to keep me occupied.  Sometimes a pal would come by to palaver or play chess: but mostly I had my favorite companion for company.  A book.  Once ever October I’d submit to a haircut and beard trim – but only by Big Jan a genuine hairdresser slingin’ booze for a better livin’ and being a pal of my mother I could only say yes – but it must be in October only and she must cut the hair right out front in the parking lot over by the big billboard with enough light for her to see how to chop it all off but leave just a little fuzz both on top of and below my chin.  Touch not the ‘stachioes!)