Read a Poem
Planning
by Lindsay Turner
Why doesn’t anyone in these poems speak for her own life
Once I couldn’t wait a moment longer in Virginia
Once the sun rose red outside a hotel room in the cold New England dawn
I couldn’t imagine any other way to sleep I hadn’t tried
Cocooned inside one form or another
Once there was an image of a garden projected on a screen
Once there were orderly hedges and white gravel paths
The garden wasn’t planned for getting lost in but that’s what people did there
It was just the garden’s outlines but you could still trace the paths
It’s not at all like how the straight line of history (now we know)
Runs out in the depopulated suburbs where the wires run aboveground
Runs out in stripmalls, parking lots of trailers selling pills and armchairs
Runs out in a wealth of places of supplies for everything mechanical or animal
Once I wasn’t thinking about the running out
Once I wasn’t thinking about anyone else’s life or mine as such
I imagined my arm extending outside the window in the cold red morning
Held there in the cold red like a steeple while the day rushed past
Is this when the poem appears like a crime scene
Like a white outline of smoke or breath in a red New England dawn
It’s not an allegory in the strictest sense because the made-up part of it is true
Why doesn’t anyone here speak for their own life
Once in South Carolina there was a flood behind the storage units
Once it was believed relief from was a thing in store
In my life the major errors accumulate behind me as I go
Soon you will be able to read them like a poem
Planning by Lindsay Turner, from Upstate. University Chicago Press, forthcoming. Previously published in Jubilat. Used by permission of the author.
About the Author
Lindsay Turner is a poet, translator, and scholar of poetry currently living in Cleveland, Ohio, where she is Assistant Professor of English and Creative Writing at Case Western Reserve University. Her second collection of poems, The Upstate, is forthcoming from the University of Chicago Press in 2023.
Write a Poem
Write a dialogue poem of the worst customer experience you have ever had. Feel free to exaggerate, though you probably won’t have to.
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LOL!
Lady Ga Ga’s Poker Face
“Customer Service? It’s me. Again.”
“Please hold.”
“Waaa waaait…..”
(Lady Ga Ga sings 'Poker Face' in the format of a waltz. An unsettling vision of being stuck inside an elevator while visiting a nursing home takes my mind, hostage). Finally…
“How can I help you?”
“I need to…”
“Hold, please.”
(A baker’s dozen of blunt haikus are created while waiting for Customer Service to return. Eventually, I hear a genderless voice ask the question that has plagued the universe since the Big Bang):
“Whom are you waiting for?”
“You, apparently.”
“I know you’ve been in the queue a long time. We’re very busy. If you like, press the pound key and an agent will return your call within twenty-four hours…”
“Wait. Are you real?”
“If you’d like to discuss a charge on a bill received in the past thirty days, please be advised we have adjusted the current algorithm to correct the misinformation and threat to alert the IRS or DOJ (as deemed appropriate) on suspected corrupt practices you might have alerted our computerized help-center to unwittingly. Next time, don’t hang up until we tell you to, and we won’t be forced to generate melodrama.
Incidentally, don’t think to ask for a supervisor. That option is reserved for customers who have completed our Complimentary Anger Management Program (CAMP). If you’d like to take advantage of this special opportunity, please press 'two’ on your telephone, or say, “I’m losing my mind.” You will receive a call back for enrollment within fifteen minutes. This meaningful program includes a special drink and snack of your choice. Be advised, these programs fill up quickly. However, if this is an emergency and you are considering hanging up, or any other inappropriate, violent, or socially unacceptable behavior, dial 911, and an ambulance will be dispatched. We know where you are calling from. Of course, you are legally liable for these expenses and the FBI will be authorized to raid your home premises at a time of their choosing should you refuse to pay your financial obligations. Normally, these raids, which include a personalized perp-walk, are scheduled between 5:00 and 8:30 a. m."
“Can I speak with a human?”
“If you wish to speak with Non-Automated Intelligence (NAI), press or say: Three.”
“THREE!”
“I could not distinguish that response. If you wish to speak with Non-Automated Intelligence….”
“Three! Three! Three...”
(I dutifully pushed the number on my phone so many times my acrylic fingernail with little cat faces painted above its cuticle went into orbit, landing in the butter dish).
“Ma’am, Ma’am…my sensors detect you’re having difficulty with selection. Please be advised our company adheres to the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). I am forwarding your call to our Accessibility Operator. Please hold.”
(Again, Lady Ga Ga is looking for a poker face. I can’t help her; I lost mine decades ago. At this point, I’m in search of another universe, a place where people and phones aren’t crowded together in some windowless underground, escaping just long enough to confuse assistance with hope).
Epilogue: Just once, I’d like to hang the phone up on someone, so they actually know they’ve been terminated, are futile, unnecessary, and without value.
Just once I’d like to find a solution instead of a dial tone.
© Tovli 2023
You speak for all of us. The humans among us. Thank you. I am not a robot.
My third trip back
The first, my fault
New to Mahjong
I didn't know some came without jokers
I wanted them
You were pleasant
I found another mahjong
With the jokers I needed
I took the set home
But in the unpacking I discovered
A missing crack and a duplicate bam
I took the set back
You were a young man
I explained, I showed you the duplicate
I imagined a young man like you
in a factory
Overwhelmed by mahjong tiles
Losing his place among the tiles
You gave me permission to choose another mahjong
Awe but upon returning as we completed the transaction
Me fumbling apologizing for this visit
Apologizing for the manufacturer's mistake
You looked at me and said
"Perhaps the fault is yours. Perhaps you don't know what your doing?"
I smiled took my package and left.
No harsh words sent back to you
No one would ever be told
Of your bigotry towards woman
Because of this I am certain
Those words you would have never said to a man
I forgave you because after all
I pictured a young man misplacing my tile.
Payment made in January
Several billings since
Each phone call think it is resolved
Billing comes again today
Problem continues
Losing patience
Finally a determined employee
Spent most of the day
Tracking all information I provided
Plus a 3 way call to credit card company
Found the payment
As my account number was 1 digit omitted
Billing issues resolved?
Await next month
"The first, my fault
New to Mahjong
I didn't know some came without jokers
I wanted them..." the best line I've read in a month! Deborah, I think I mis-posted this instead of "replying" to your poem. (sorry)