“Starbucks Poetry Slam”

 

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-20)

I never had a cellphone until the age of 40.

This personal fact evokes giggles from the grandkids, and younger members of my neighborhood. Acquiring such a device came only because my wife, who had possessed several of these useful, electronic cubes, bought one for my birthday. At first, the importance of such connectivity was lost on me, having a preference for being comfortably out-of-touch. But years later, with my first smartphone, I began to appreciate one advantage of the technological marvel.

A constant feed of emerging newspaper stories.

Recently, an example of this phenomenon appeared as I read a post on the Geauga County Maple Leaf page, located on the social media platform of Facebook. It offered an article about the coffee colossus Starbucks coming to Chardon. The story aroused vigorous debate over such an intrusion, in their comments section.

I couldn’t resist offering my own brief observation.

“Welcome to ‘New Mentor’ the jewel of Geauga County.”

This theme continued to percolate throughout the rest of my day. I remembered my estranged spouse having a literal fascination with the Seattle retailer. She had even brought their coffee to our wedding reception. But more present in my thoughts were the ghosts of our village, wandering spirits long since surrendered to history. Quaint images of what my adopted home used to be, before the influx of new residents from afar.

After waking up at 2:00 a.m. for a typical session of work at the home computer, words began to flow like the dark beverage in my Bunn coffeemaker. What follows here is the result:

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

So much for shotguns and pickup trucks

You’re out of luck

With no ticket to this upward move

This yuppie groove

People moved in from Cleveland

Then wanted what they had back then

Urban sprawl

Damn it all

Got to free ourselves

From that decaying hell

But in our escape

We still want a taste

Of the rat race

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

Barely had a chance

For a high school dance

After this switch

From flirting with the Amish

To the smell of fish

Flipping from the babbling brook

We’re on the hook

Forrest Gumpers

Baby-bumpers

Gone to the country life

Husband and wife

Treading on sacred ground

Where those who used to come around

Are long lost and forgotten

By the misbegotten

 

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

The bag-packers and hacky-sackers

With the rest

Put to the test

This little piece of happiness

Is a barista success

Latte on the way

This is a new day

In a city gone astray

I used to walk here

For Rickard’s Bakery and Christmas cheer

But those memories

Bled through cracks in the street

Okay, Boomer

It was all just a rumor

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

So much for hunting ducks

Flannel shirts smoothed and tucked

Crisp is the air of fall

Time to sound the Mallard call

But in return

There’s a mating squawk

Of goods to hawk

National chains

Across the plains

So much for the Maple Leaf Inn

Zamer’s Music

It makes me sick

When I think of them

Gone, gone, gone

Baby I’m gone

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

Heartstrings are plucked

I’m feeling awestruck

On a bench at the square

No one is there

Everyone has gone to the moon

From December to June

But very soon

They’ll be grabbing Macchiato on the go

Look out below

There’s an old man down the road

Walking slow

He used to be someone

But now I forget

This plan is set

A bottom dollar to get

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

What a stroke of luck

Rolling dice cast a shadow

They’re paving the meadow

Yellow lines across the flowers

It’ll all be done in a few more hours

The concrete curbs

Have you heard?

Metal and glass

Take out the trash

C’mon, country hicks!

Approve me quick!

Or feel the beat of my pool stick

Corner shot ‘cross the table

If you’re able

Mabel, Black Label

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

Commerce run amok

Do the Huckle Buck

My kids won’t learn

Yesterday is a bridge we burned

The cord is cut

Sputter, sputter

I want peanut butter

But the chain from Seattle

Will test your mettle

With a scone, or biscotti on the side

You can run and hide

But the western winds are blowing

And the drone-eye is all knowing

This Geauga County opening

Of thee I sing

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

Spent 100K on a pickup truck

Gilded, glittering gold

No time for the old

Bring in the new, with Nike shoes

Uptick, tell me quick

What fashion trend will meet the end

There’s no time to sit at Woolworth’s

I’ll say it first

Nobody cares

About the Burton fair

Or a trip to Big Wheel

Conley’s, Golden Dawn, or Valu King

Death, where is thy sting?

It’s a prick of the flesh

Squeezed out of a French Press

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

This could be any coastal town, or Canuck city

Everything is pretty

North America will smile

Resistance is futile

Blandly bowing to the dudes

From Utah Avenue

My kids used to play on the way

To A & P, mercy me

Or stay up all night

Watching Ghoulardi flicks

With go-go dancing chicks

Ain’t that a kick?

But that’s the last breath of yesterday

Fading away

Like a butt in the ashtray

Chardon gettin’ a Starbucks

In a field of dried corn husks

Swept away

Hey, hey, hey

There’s an ocean sunrise

In the Geauga sky

The Maple Festival

Has grown too dull

A better habit soon to come

For every daughter and son

Sipping Sumatra, Espresso, or Morning Joe

Got the fire down below

A Venti full of Italian Roast

From the left coast

It’s the most

A Buckeye bumpkin can buy

Without the urge to see

Somewhere other

Than flyover country

When I came home from New York in 1983, this spot in northeastern Ohio still retained much of its rural character and heritage. But that sturdy foundation has dissolved over time as new stories were written and new lives emerged. I can only wonder what a future Chardon will encompass, long after those like myself have gone.

Perhaps, in another 37 years, some other writer will pen their own ‘poetry slam.’ If so, then I hope to read their creation in a paper available in my nursing home.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024