the last spelling bee preview

8/6/2019 The Last Spelling Bee preview

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The Last Spelling BeePoetry by Benjamin Daniel Lawless

Also by he auhor:

Tere Is Nohing Poeic Abou Fish

Designed by he auhor:

Te Space Beween Tings by Kevin Parick Sullivan, arwork by Paty Sullivan

Successul Daing A Las! by Jeanne Bean Murdock

Te Every Excuse in he Book Bookby Jeanne Bean Murdock

Firs ediion, June 2011

Copyrigh 2011 Benjamin Daniel Lawless

Book and Cover Design by Benjamin Daniel Lawless

Prined and disribued by CreaeSpace

A Penciled In projec, www.penciledin.com

ISBN: 1461181070

ISBN-13: 978-1461181071


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Contents

2 Clawed

4 Johnson Elemenary Schools

Las Annual Spelling Bee

10 Diameers & radii

12 My 400-horsepower

cardboard box

14 Grandpa ges ha

ar away look

16 Te miracle o

bread ino blood

18 Heres one or all he

lovers ou here

20 Windows wihou glass

24 Monaa de Oro, sunse

26 Nigh and Sain

28 Sunrise

30 Te sea and me

32 Spring cleaning

36 In he cleared wood

38 So close

40 Te subsidy

42 Apollo, my dog

44 Early dinners and re dances

46 Ta is no ice cream

48 Lie wih a ime machine

50 Envying God

52 Ink

54 Te morning

aer Halloween

56 Allergies, eng allergies

58 Working rom home

60 Maybe I don wan

o alk o you

62 Connecing he dos

64 An inconvenien ooh

66 Te model and he ghos

68 Our buried bones

70 Final houghs

72 Bahing he ca

76 Sapling

80 Te descen ino

Lihue airpor

84 Sal owards sand

86 Te end o a world

88 Te world and room

92 aking a philosophical

discussion oo ar

94 As he dynamie broke he dam

co-writen wih David Neubauer

96 Auumn and he all

98 Clogged pipes

100 On a grocery run or

our new overlords

102 Colophon

103 Acknowledgmens

104 Abou he Auhor

18 2 3 72 82


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For my dog and my ca:

should you ever develop he gif o language,

I hope your poems abou me are kind.

For me, circa 2000:

Sorry Im no who you hough Id be.

Don worry, youll ge over i.


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Tis could have been he greaes work

o lieraure ha you, I, or evenBilly Collins could have dream

i my ca wasn perched on my ches righ now,

my bed creaking under our combined weigh.

Wihou moving, he somehow leaps rom muse o disracion.

Teres lapop in lap and

houghs dipped in a long mi lky purr.

I can barely hack my way hrough a jungle

o words and whiskers.

Bu when I absenmindedly uck my ngers

under his cheek is like a synax error.

A claw hooks isel ino my lip.

Focus, he says.I you weren such a

sel-cenered big basard,

Id ea you whole.

Bu all I hear is

wrie me my maserpiece

so I can ignore you again.

Clawed

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Men do supid hings or women,

and in sixh grade I learned his

when Kennessa Marshall be ellow classmae Brigham oskin

weny-ve whole bucks

ha Id ake rs place in he spelling bee.

I sood onsage,a snap-on dangling rom my collar

and he microphone growling a my nose.

Firs word was jocund.

My mouh became an aquarium,

algae sicking o my cheeks over a ake coral ree

and he word jocund lay sideways on he surace,

dead or wha ased like years.

Johnson Elementary SchoolsLastAnnual Spelling Bee

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Please use i in a senence, I sammered.

Te judge could ell I was salling, bu sill he repeaed

my word, ha roting sh,

and hen snidely chirped She el jocund despie bad c ircum-

and he never nished

because righ hen he windows

on all sides o he audiorium shatered.

Seas rumbled and doorways splinered.

Te earhquake crawled hrough he aisles

and spli he sage open like a pomegranae.

Te res o he conesans, sill in heir chairs,

ell hrough wha was le o he sage

sraigh o he molen core o our plane.

Tere were no survivors.

And has how I won my sixh grade spelling bee.

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My siser made me a riendship bracele,

gave i o me under a sargazers sky in Sana Margaria.

Te rs ime i wrapped around my wris,

I wached her rain leave he saion.

I el every aom o he coton blend andevery nanomeer o is circumerence echo her ca ll,

beckoning me back o where I grew up.

Even hough San Diego eels as ar away as Saurns rings,

he bracele is i nvaluable. Is my assisan,

mapping my orbi home,

my pah prescribed in he wis o

green and orange knos.

I may look like billions o miles bu really

is jus our hundred. Really is jus

16 cenimeers o yarn. When I drive home,

he cars wheels roae 108 million imes

and every bump and josle o he highway

make he 42 knos around my wris sing.

When nal ly I sop, shes waiing

a he op o he sairs.

Shes been orbiing oo.

And nally, we hug, spiraling closer

like he wo hands on he ace o a clock.

Finally hese diameers beween us

halve ino radii, and hen ino a single poin

and Im home.

Diameters & radii

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I drew he world as I dried around he urn,

a crayon savan speeding hrough in six wal ls.

Pedesrians were nohing bu blizzard blue sufed animals

walking o heir jazzberry-colored sufed jobs.

Ive always been he ases.

Mom called me Lead-oo Lawless.

Oher cars called me he aomic angerine speck in he disance.

Im he bes driver here is.

Mom gave me a icke once,bu I was able o ge ou o i

by eaing my broccoli. I even ound an agency

ha insured agains apple juice spills.

In my burn umber cardboard box I was ree,

weaving hrough snowy mounain passes and neon car chases,

and really, I was able o ip over and ou anyime.

Now, my car lacks imaginaion. Im weny-seven

and I drive o he sore, o he job, o he pos oce.

I drive he empy spaces beween errands.

I pass he gray rees, gray sky, gray sun.

My 400 HORSEPOWER

cardboard box

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No easy growing old.

Firs, you orge wha made youh miserable.

Te vines and weeds sruggle hrough he sidewalk

and he ron porch sags.

Spring comes again and you ge a Corvete,

new anned legs o race

wih your ngerips.

You orge wha made youh un

and he atic sars crumbling,

dayligh slips slowly ino dark hallways.

Ten winer,

you make sure your new roo doesn leak,

every windows closed and locked.

Setle soly wih he urnace,

your avorie blanke, he endless nigh.

Grandpa gets thatfar away look

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He swung he chain ino my skull,

heavy meal hrough San Diego air.

Rus peeled of chains in hispanic hands.

wo o hem. A year older han me.

en years old, I was walking home

wih a loa o Wonder bread.

Tey passed me on he gheto sidewalk,

leaned on heir heels and sruck.

Te chain dropped me,

he jabs and hooks kep me down.

Ten I was less han one, back in he womb.

Warm, bloody and eal.

God help me. I hur.

I bled on he sory o Jesus,

and he why ha passed his lips beore deah.

On he cross I looked o hose crucied nex o me,

and saw he hispanic kids aces, erried.

I learned pacism rom you, Lord.

And rom ha holy word I earned punishmen.

Chris perormed a miracle,

eeding a mob wih some bread and sh,

bu I reurned home breadless.

Te loa was he las hing hey ook rom me.

All I had or my amily

was bruises. Blood.

the

miracle of bread

into

blood

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Heres one for

all the lovers

out there

Te DJ sis in a barely li room.

Consellaions o dus swirlbeween his lips and he microphone.

He speaks in silken one.

He whispers and he sound carries

o he empy corners o bedrooms,

o he open elds ouside own limis,

o he ionosphere.

His whispers ravel arher and he words

poliely excuse hemselves ou o he Milky Way.

Tey wander he cold saic o space

unil nally, some kind o lie hears him.

I wakes up rom a dark sleep

under a diferen sky o sars.

Is cardiovascular sysem sirs o lie.

I lis is head, anennae wiching.

Radio-elescopic eyes look deep ino he Milky Way.

Te words have awakened somehingmore powerul han neuron pulses.

Tree o is een hears begin beaing.

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The Last Spelling Bee

Poetry by Benjamin Daniel Lawless

available at Amazon

and from penciledin.com

the last spelling bee preview

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