Requiem for The Weedman

Requiem for The Weedman

Dasha Kelly Hamilton

Tony never talks to me about terps

Katie didn’t mention percentages or strains

Mike doesn’t brandish a logo, but his product

and customer service -- always fire

Julian can’t name the co-op of growers, but

the strand is described with war tools

Meeting Moose is most natural in parking lots

Ant delivers to the house

Max is still making moves after bar time

Serena can’t come through til after work

Sam’s stash is personally vetted

Percy doesn’t partake at all

Ericka responds to texts, never calls

Ed rewards loyalty with free samples and extra shake

Jake is not opposed to credit

Denver needs her money every time

Cast our votes

Decriminalize our connects

Yelp our transactions

Ease them to the margins of utility, of enterprise

beside the bank tellers, book sellers,

taxi cab drivers and market cashiers

Alisha doesn’t have a store front, hoodies or permit from the state

Cricket only jokes about launching an app or website

Will upgraded from baggies to plastic pouches, the kind

from the hardware store for bolts and screws

Neither Jasmine nor John open their doors on travel weekends

for visitors to gawk, giggle and shop in

broad daylight

Comments

Feed Them

If we examine our opinions, we can trace the tpuzzle seams between where we've been and what we truly know. I strive to be responsible with my opinions. Feed them a balanced diet of facts, perspective, narrative and whimsy. My opinions don't aspire to be big and strong. Just healthy. They don't yearn to be popular or franchised, just authentic and, hopefully, sturdy. Even when they appear to match, opinions have unique owners. "Defending" our opinions should mean sketching their lineage: origin, influences, close relatives, familial mergers, adoptions and a nod to the season they spent "discovering themselves." Opinions offer shorthand for our emotions, experiences and unasked questions. Question your opinions. Test them in private to see if they can answer for themselves. If they're nervous or insecure. Are they loud? Lazy? Misinformed? People pleasers? How do your opinions respond to inspection or opposition? Are they holding a grudge? We...

Kraken the whip

It. has been. a YEAR since I've sat down to write. From this side of my pen, that is. Writing projects, yes. Scripts for one-woman shows. A children's book. A 11-minute poem that I performed with the Milwaukee Ballet. Nothing to boo hoo about, at all. Except these words weren't, necessarily, for me. I might have etched five poems, but I would have stirred them in a workshop I was leading or supporting. Not sure if that counts as writing for myself. When I started counting on my fingers, my eyes tracking absently across the ceiling, the math was incomprehensible. I thought of friends I'd giggled with about their comparable sex dry spells. A year, girl? A whole year, like twelve months, back to back, f'real? My bad, y'all. In this past year, my best words were tiles for funding mosaics, grants and proposals, strategic plans, contract agreements and curricula, social media posts, text messages -sometimes a panel's worth, and eight trillion emails. ...

Tiger Pause

At eleven, my daughter's fears were getting mauled by a tiger, injured a car crash and being a victim of rape. We talked a lot over the years about sex, sexuality and patriarchy, music lyrics and power, media, shame and the law, discretion, integrity and the whispered fragility of boys. At sixteen, I rocked her as she wept. Her slender shoulders were violent from crying. One of her friends had been raped. Months ago, but was only beginning to share. Months ago, when she started losing weight, stopped hanging out before pre-calc, and kept exhaustion shadowed beneath her makeup contours. We sat crouched on the stairs leading up to my room. She'd called out my name from the dark hall. Her voice, normally expectant and full, had been small and reaching. I peeled away from my husband to find her on the landing, shaking. My daughter felt helpless and hurt that her friend had gone through so much all alone. That she didn't know. Couldn't have known. That it was so unfair....

...and then...

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