Guest Column by Anitra L. Freeman

This is Anitra, Upon Whose Kitchen Floor Wes Has Sometimes Slept. Wes has a bad cold right now, which he says is my fault (because he's sleeping closer to me than the kitchen floor these days), and therefore I have to write his column for him.

Wes says I am starting out very well, staring at a blank white computer screen. He then gave me a tip to get started:

[insert column here]

Wes has just left the room, leaving me clear to talk about him with Cindy, Muse of Few Words. I ask Cindy, "I want to structure this column like Wes does, in the form that I have called a Wessitur: an apparent sequence of non-sequiturs that sneaks up behind a political subject and bonks it on the head. How do you suggest I start?"

Cindy says, "Say something about Wes now."

Wes was skinnier when I first met him (he also says that this is my fault, in spite of the fact that he does most of the cooking.) We were both homeless at that time, in October 1995. Wes attempted to teach me the use of acrylics, at StreetLife Art Gallery.

He still attempts to teach me math. I retaliate by singing sea chanteys at him.

Soon after I started going to StreetLife Gallery, Wes drafted me for the Real Change Editorial Committee. I retaliated by starting StreetWrites, to help more homeless and low-income writers develop material for publication. Wes said, "Okay, I'll attend, but you have to do the work."

How am I doing, Cindy? "At about this point, Wes says something else."

Speaking of something else, last week I attended the Seattle Police Department's first organizational meeting attempting to put together a Homeless Advisory Council. I was unhappy to see that I was the only person there who was a "community member" (still counted as low-income and formerly homeless) instead of a service provider or public official-- and I was only there because Timothy "Editor-God" Harris, Director of Real Change, was in production crunch on the paper. Tim made me feel a bit better by explaining that invitations did go out to SHARE, WHEEL & HOP -- but they went out very recently. Membership-driven grassroots organizations need more lead time to make decisions than top-down structured organizations. Adding in that the strongest memory most homeless groups have of such advisory councils is the sensation of having one's butt turned to rubber with the raised words "Whatever You've Already Decided" lettered on them, then pounded up and down -- and caution lengthens the lead time.

Speaking of caution, caution lengthened the lead time in the relationship between Wes and I. Within weeks of meeting each other we were spending large amounts of time together -- we were both officers of StreetLife Gallery, both writing for and editing Real Change, and we just hung out, because we made each other laugh, we sparked ideas for each other, I could say one sentence and he instantly knew what I meant, cutting my tendency to discourse at length and earning the undying gratitude of thousands.

But first, I was staying in shelters and he was Camping Out on Fern Hill (the exact location of which he still keeps secret in case he might have to use it again.) Then I got housing but Wes didn't; he could only visit me three nights a week at The Union Hotel, where he really did sleep on my kitchen floor, and we talked for several hours each night like kids at a slumber party. It was July 21st, 1997, at 4PM (I got the date and time from Wes) that Wes walked into the Real Change and handed his last pack of cigarettes ever to Tim Harris because I had mentioned that I wouldn't get intimate with a smoker's mouth. Then he didn't sleep on my kitchen floor any longer.

Speaking of lengthening, we were both divorced. Wes had a history of severe child abuse and suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had a history of relationships disrupted by my bipolar disorder (manic depression). We were both used to being prejudged, misjudged, and making bad judgments about others. A lot of reasons for caution on both sides. We're now regarded as the happiest couple in the Union Hotel, mainly because we come in about 3AM each morning laughing manically over such things as the application of the policy of Harm Reduction to late-night transit.

Maybe homeless people and the SPD will someday be cracking jokes together, working comfortably side by side, hanging out together. Also the physically disabled, and those with mental health / chemical dependency / developmental issues: other groups that the SPD is hoping to have new Advisory Councils for. If there's enough common ground; enough support; enough patience. If someone gives up their cigarettes, or whatever other habits are in the way.

How did I do, Cindy? "You left out poetry."

Haiku for Wes

He sleeps on my kitchen floor
while I check my email.
I need no Valentines.

Write On!
© Anitra Freeman 2002

Playing Catch-up

I was alarmed recently when I realized that not only had I not written a poem in two months, but that my Opus 1 ("The Unfinished Poem") had fallen seriously behind schedule, and that if it wasn't brought back on line soon, cost overruns could be expected.

Opus 1, some of you may recall, is a five verse poem scheduled for completion in 1999. Its manifold fiveness is intended to point to the condition of humanity, which is symbolized by the number five, the sum of the female two and the male three, or maybe the other way around.

At any rate we have only seen, so far, versions 1.0 and 2.0. Version 3.0 is six months late and 2.0 was never even properly debugged, so

it is with some apology that I am led to unveil

O Boy O Boy O Boy O Boy O Boy

or Opus 1, The Still Unfinished Poem,

(Version 3.5)

Check comes each month from the SSA -

Get to eat a cheeseburger ev-ree day!

O Boy! O Boy!! O Boy! O Boy! O Boy!!

Church down the street wants to save my soul -

It's wiener stew! In a big green bowl!

O Boy! O Boy!! O Boy! O Boy! O Boy!!

Farmers gotta have their produce sold -

So my Stamps can buy it (if it's cold)!

O Boy! O Boy!! O Boy! O Boy! O Boy!!

Food banks dispense the surpluses -

etc.

O Boy! etc.

Speaking of Food Stamps, I don't have any at the moment. This is the normal state of affairs at the end of every month, for all recipients of Food Stamps, because the US Government has determined that Americans eat too much, and therefore makes sure that everyone on Food Stamps gets just exactly enough for two and a half weeks and no more. "It's important that our poor people set a good example for the rest of our citizens", said one unnamed source, recently.

Ok, I said it. But you know that's how they think.

One consequence of the end of the month shortage of Food Stamps is a corresponding shortage of spare change throughout the land. For as all recipients are aware, the law permits ninety-nine cents worth of change per day in Food Stamp transactions. (Thus the Food Stamp Program also subsidizes the shoelace industry about half of each month.)

Of course it is only an apparent shortage of spare change, as the panhandler's success reveals. This speaks to yet another aspect of the concept change - sometimes I have the change, then times change, and Sam or Wally has it.

Change, Change, Who Has the Change?

- A Poem Cantabile.

Change, change, who has the change?

If I don't get any soon,

I'll get even more strange.

I'll punch at the air and holler and swear,

I'll smash all the clocks and swallow my socks,

I'll get on a stage and I'll rant and I'll rage,

I'll act like a goon, I'll play the bassoon -

if I don't get any soon.

Change, change, who has the change?

If none comes my way,

My brains will derange.

I'll think wild thoughts of government plots,

I'll watch TV and believe whatever I see,

I'll make up new "facts" and spread them with tracts,

There's nothing I wouldn't say by the end of the day -

if none comes my way.

If you are one of the Sams or Wallys near the end of February, and you've read this far, you might be especially interested in the Dead Poets' Slam scheduled at the OK Hotel on the evening of Wednesday the 25th. I will be one of the live poets in attendance, as I perform haiku and low-ku, in competition with Portland's 1997 Haiku Slam winner. Come for that, or come for the Dead Poets, but whatever you do come and bring that change with you.

Speaking of Haiku

Speaking of haiku

The consummate poet al-

-ways has one or two.

If you don't recall what a haiku is check out my first:

CHECK IT OUT

or Opus 3, My First Haiku

First: five syllables

Second: seven syllables

Last: five syllables.

Cool huh? O.K., here's one more haiku to whet haiku-appetites, one which I'm sure will be well-received by all your "poetry-cognoscenti." Like many great poems it seeks the Universal in the Particular. It is after all that only by staring unflinchingly at each "pixel" of our reality in this world that we can create a gestalt of our other-than-realities in this world, such as the Universal Objective. So have some gestalt on me!

The Beer Drinker's Haiku

or Opus 5, My First Haiku with Content

H! A! I! K! U!

Don't be drinking all the brew!

Or you WILL upchuck!

Having surmised my views on the Seattle Commons plan Peter Powers, a local building contractor, writes:

Dear Selfish Ex-homeless Jerk -

Let me explain something to you and your kind about the Seattle Commons. We
are not trying to "make people homeless". For every apartment we lay waste,
we will build a new "low income" apartment to replace it. So you see, our
goal is not to increase the total number of homeless but instead to pass the
experience of homelessness to people who haven't already had it. You've had
your chance to be homeless; now let's see some other deadbeats and losers hit
the streets!

But - just to show you I'm a nice guy - here's a poem you can stick in your
"column":

I'm not a bad person you know,
I'm just a guy seeking to grow.
But messing up lives
By leveling dives
Fulfills all my needs to get dough.

I believe you, Peter. But next time could you please keep to a hundred words or less? THANKS!! I have needs, too!

And THANKS!! to you, Reader, for reading. Read next month, and learn something about the poet's craft.