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Just Something to Talk About Over Lunch

(Her readers can’t believe it just goes on and on. Neither can the poet. She doesn’t understand what she could possibly ever have done to deserve even a fraction of it, and she wonders every day:

If it doesn’t want her here, why doesn’t it let her go away?)


Recorded Reading:


Just Something to Talk About Over Lunch

Please do this:

Hook a good friend up to your phone’s audio.

Place the phone at bedside.

Ask your friend to wake you up deliberately each time you drop off to sleep.

Your friend should do this until you are so exhausted that he or she can actually throw pebbles at your window without waking you (classic wake-up method for excellent reasons).

That friend should then deposit fresh, fragrant, infectious feces beneath that window, and continue to throw pebbles at it from time to time until you can no longer sleep through it all.

Ask the friend to make mocking noises outside the window as soon as you are awakened in this way, and to continue to do so throughout the day to come, everywhere you go and everything you do ~ particularly when you yourself must defecate, at moments when you display any tendency to relief, laughter or joy, and at those in which you are already particularly frustrated, clumsy, or embarrassed.

When you walk away from your vehicle, get them to throw paint eating chemicals on it and scatter trash around it before you return.

Also they should take careful note of everyone with whom you do business or especially anyone with whom any possibility of misunderstanding arises. These your friend should call and inflate to their fullest potentials of misunderstanding and intolerance.

Ask them to do this for one night, and day.

Multiply it in your head and heart by a factor of 180 (6 months of nights and days).

Now night is coming again. The pebbles are already flying, getting ready for when you are just too tired, and must give up and lie down.

Would you wish, fantasize, could you help but to hope that someone ~ anyone ~ somehow, some impossible how would care enough to intervene?

But the poet is learning.

Caring for one another’s not exactly humanity’s strong suit, is it?

She can be slowly but surely deprived of functionality, sanity, freedom ~ forget in a modern American home ~ this is on the street right in front of everybody.

We have, as a society, no mechanisms left with which to establish justice.

Only to exact revenge for injustices which we have already allowed to occur among us.


Oh, well, then, huh? Nothing to be done?

Nothing worse than you all do to one another every day?

It didn’t make sense to her then either, but at least in elementary school this poet had the luxury of thinking that people ever grew out of thinking that way.

Boy, was she ever dead wrong, eh?

No, it’s just something to talk about over lunch.


Among us, poets are ill paid. In order to continue her work, this one currently lives in her minivan, on an income of a fraction of our nation’s poverty level. If her work has moved, enabled or uplifted you, your contribution to this effort may be made at:


Published by Ana Daksina

Read worldwide half a million times, Ana Daksina is a Troubador of the coming age.

10 thoughts on “Just Something to Talk About Over Lunch

    1. I try to be understanding of their limitations. They’re marked by cars and uniforms, beholden to power structures about which they cannot speak, and enforcing what for the poor has become a completely unworkable system of law.

      I try to be understanding of everybody. But I’m not willing to spend the remainder of my life in a darkened van being mocked every time I dare to show my face ~ whatever that takes.

      Liberty or death. Serious as a heart attack.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. This is a question I’ve asked myself many times. I think they are hampered by car and uniform, trying to implement a system of law which has changed focus in these past decades from the preservation of freedom to the railroading of lower classes into “assistive” institutional housing, and dealing as well with perpetrator and victim both jurisdictionless. In addition there are thick networks of favors granted, childhood bullying relationships and social stratification in these small towns beyond anything imaginable to a city dweller.

      Liked by 1 person

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