Jim Powell - In Insoluble Crisis Poem by Jim Powell

When mornin arrive, I manage a clean face to match the finely washed clothes fo the day. Make me feel I’m off to a good beginnin

But this seemingly fine risin has got me thinkin.
Ma mind just ain’t coherin…

I’ve been awake by a giant bird.
This ain’t no regula chip-chip birdie. I see it’s bigga than a hawk, but not as large as those runnin breakfast-fo-twenty-egged bird.
It like to stare. Its biddy eye always followin.
So I took on the decision of shuttin the drape.
Couldn’t hear the giant fla away, so I’m guessin it’s still waitin on somethin.
Hopin it’s gone by sun down.

What has got ma thoughts all scrambled, is ma respectable boss sayin there was no need of me bein at the shop. He said in calm sense – “Just this one week, Jim. The slowin down here allow me to discount a body labor. Take the time to RECUP. We’ll see you the followin Monday.”
“Recup! ” This ain’t no language that is to be used by a fine boss like himself.
What is I supposs to do in this house fo entia week? Weekend is fo restin, but mo time than that give idea fo laziness!

I supposs I can do some work on the house.
It’s a fine house, but could get some new color, new organizin…It would most certainly take me mo than two or three sun rise…This color is on this wall now fo well over ten year! It don’t look fresh. Now see, this neva botha me. Too much restin time give room fo craziness!
It sure could use organizin…puttin things from one place to anotha in a organized fashion. Nevermind that. Seem very foolish. Guess I can do a lot of composin. That’ll straighten up and out ma thoughts…

I hear wing-flap.