Brandon Whitehead is a writer, poet, critic and pizza-lover with (not surprisingly) a long career in manual labor, including most anything to do with trucks, warehouses and graveyard maintenance. As a rather surly member of the literary community in Kansas City, Missouri, Brandon has occasionally emerged to perform at Prospero's Pit Poetry or The Writer's Place in historic and well-kept Midtown Kansas City, and been published in several local publications of which he has not, frankly, kept very good records.
It’s another beautiful day today,
85 degrees and sunny,
A clear and beautiful sky
without a chance of any rain, snow, ice or sleet—
so let’s keep up those smiles, people!
All the polite excuses, the “Oh, Well, that’s ok.”
and that most important
“It’s just the way things have too be.”
My car- MY wonderful car
is no lifeless desert,
no sterile ER
pressurized with
filtered atmosphere--
It is an island,
whose reefs and sholes
gather the flotsam
of the midwest's
tidal jetstream,
a faithful home to 39th St.'s
shaggy, hung-over moths
and tripped-out hippie spiders