Sunday, April 24, 2016

A Month of Favorite Poetry, Day #24

I recently found a book by James Kavanaugh.  I enjoyed his poetry quite a bit, but I couldn't find him listed on any of the major poetry sites (which was a little disappointing, considering he is quite talented).  From the little information I could gather, he was a rebel priest who turned from the church in search of his own sense of autonomy and individuality.  He felt that technology would surmise a huge breakdown of human interaction and connectivity on an interpersonal level (for which I agree to an extent).  He passed away in 2009 but left behind dozens of books.

I chose this poem because I, too, long for those childhood days.  Things just seemed more special and precious...perhaps because time passed more slowly and we were forced to really experience things rather than deal with the fast-paced age of internet and cell phones and fax machines.  Even food tasted better back then, maybe that's because we didn't eat out every single day and when we did it was a special, rare treat.

I miss real face-to-face time with friends.  And simplicity.


It Is Hard to Find
by James Kavanaugh

It is hard to find a friend anymore,
I mean, the childhood kind
That once  I stumbled on
And stored with my prized possessions
Like skipping stones and jackknives,
Indian-head pennies and a chunk of lead
I found in Mr. Pritchard's yard.

It is hard to find a good hamburger anymore,
I mean, the childhood kind
That Dan the Indian made,
And the chocolate malts we lusted for
On the way from football practice,
And the french fries and cherry Cokes
We devoured at Holly's Grill.

"What can you do for me?"
And "What can I do for you?"
And somehow you know it's all wrong
Even when you're part of it.
But on nights like this, I lie down
And remember burgers and those chocolate malts
And the friends of childhood I stumbled on.

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