Living Almost Famous

Kenneth Barnes

They used to make movies in my hometown.
Only the B-rate ones that didn’t draw millions,
or worse, went straight to TV. 
But we all felt important and never left home in ratty jeans,
because you never knew when you’d be “discovered.” 
For a while everyone had a story to tell of spotting
Kim Basinger buying cereal at Harris Teeter. 
We mobbed anyone wearing sunglasses. 
Then one day They ran out of film. Someone said,
“Canada.”  
Hollywood is fickle like that. If someone
would have said “Indiana” Kim Basinger would buy
her Corn Flakes there. 
At least now it’s okay to wear faded denim.
Last month we got a Sunglasses Hut downtown. 
It would be nice, though, to see the production crews
and catering trucks sometimes, or shop for groceries
and chance running into celebrity. 
It’s just not the same, going to the theater to watch
famous people stand on a street you don’t know. 

Thoughts on Watching a Man Threatening to Jump

Kenneth Barnes

15 stories
seems
too lofty
to prove
your point
when less
than 10
will do, and
this crowd isn’t breaking
its neck
to count
floors which
won’t matter
on impact. 

this is you, thinking

Kenneth Barnes

this pen will not write me a masterpiece because it conspires with my mind to keep me penniless and obscure while everyone else has done it so easily that they must have a special ink the stock boys at wal-mart put away when i shop because they broke into my thoughts last night knew what i wanted and put out defective merchandise even though i still have my receipt

i have done all the right things and still nothing and coffee gives me heartburn when i drink four cups a day at this bistro that feels required even if the words don’t come to me so maybe i should have the waitresses there investigated for lacing the house blend with something uninspirational that left an aftertaste last week

three days ago i saw maya angelou leaving my apartment building so i followed her for six blocks because she’s been stealing my ideas and giving them to patricia cornwell and that woman who writes those harry potter books in england where this kind of thing happens all the time and makes me think i should start keeping my work inside ms angelou’s books at the library where everything is kept so very hush-hush

i could name certain people who are in on this scandal everyone’s reading about in grocery store check-out lines with carts full of foods that dam up the flow of creative juices to a painful pressure point i endure when i sit down every night to work out my frustrations at the fact i have nothing to feed on but the spoiled fruits of a labor which will produce no offspring

if only i knew the exact location of stephen king’s brain i could pick it like the lock on a old steamer trunk and plunder its table of contents until i’m content i have found my winning lottery ticket to the big money i deserve for pain and suffering at the hands of maya angelou and that woman who writes those harry potter books in england

fifteen chapters of precious gold is all i ask if this writer’s block will break me into pieces against the rocks of desperation and resignation that i should have kept my day job...

i can hear maya angelou laughing