A Letter To Babyshoes>Part 1...Why? Why? Why?

Dear Babyshoes,

It’s been nearly one year, June 5th to be exact since I rocked your world, causing our friendship to go south & freed my soul at long last. It by no means was meant to happen that way, but because you chose to behave the way you did, it seemed there was no other way.

When Ronald Wilson Reagan died, what more could there be a suitable way to express thoughts through a performance, by playing a game called “Pin The Quote In Reagan’s Mouth,” who was deemed a saint by many members of the GOP and mass media combined on the day of his funeral?

When it was my turn to perform at the Arlington Poetry Project open mic & I announced my game, you just went apeshit, particularly when you saw the two customers inside the Caribou Coffee place shoot me a dirty look and stomped out afterwards. No one else walked out & no one else chose to stop playing the game either, which indicated to me that everything else was alight, but to you, it wasn’t as I watched you smoke three cigarettes in 15, a personal high, I bet!

Interestingly enough, your reaction was the same of a manager I once had at Barnes & Noble, where you also worked at the time, who did everything they could to please the customers just so they would stay on or around. I guess you failed to notice that the management on duty that night at Caribou didn’t seem to have a problem with it. It was only you, you, you.

Alas, you chose to blame me & use me as a scapegoat for all of your own floundering troubles. Your anger reared its ugly & filthy mouth afterwards as you followed me out the door & to my parked car after the gig. I am grateful that Pam Jascot was there to step between us, as you attempted to pick a fight with me.

I decided not to stick around afterwards & for good reason. I was even more astonished to find out that not only did you expect me to show up at Ritzy’s, that semi-decent restaurant we always go to after our gigs for dinner & blab for hours afterwards, but you even came back to the “scene of the crime” looking for me. What in God’s name did you have in mind when you came looking for me? To hurt me?

I went home that night, shook-up from your method acting, drove home, stopped along the way at a ToGo, bought a large turkey submarine sandwich & sat outside in midnight sun beneath the stars, while watching the thunderstorm roll inward.

In hindsight, maybe I should have not called you at work that day, you sounded so depressed, so I thought I could cheer you up, by sharing some good news I had received earlier in the day, that of my poem, “Babyshoes Blues” being published online.

It’s easy to see how your misguided anger was placed on me. You told me you couldn’t trust me anymore based on that poem. The mere fact that I made a poem out of your private affair bothered you so much didn’t it? I thought that this poem didn’t bother you; I mean that’s what you told me earlier anyway. I guess you lied to me.

But anyway Babyshoes, what do you think poetry is anyway? It’s based on feelings, experiences and innermost thoughts. Did you really think you had exclusivity rights on a subject matter that you were privately telling others about anyway? So why as a wordsmith should I have held back? Why, as a poet, should I have censored myself like I’ve done so many times before? This time I chose not to & it was published because it WAS & it STILL IS a good poem.

So, what happened, Babyshoes? Did you lose it that night? Did you take all of your lousy frustrations out on me? Did you realize what I performed was not only a blessing in disguise for me, but for others? Why didn’t you question the six other people who played the game? Why didn’t you question management that night? Why didn’t you chase those two people who stomped out of the café that night & ask them why they felt it was wrong? Why did you turn so tightly conservative that night? Why? Why? Why?

Coming Tomorrow- A Letter To Babyshoes Part Two>What I’ve Been Up To Since last year…