Occupy Boston volunteers struggle with safety

With the perception of escalating criminal activity at Occupy Boston, camp residents and activists struggle to maintain safety at Dewey Square in Boston, Massachusetts.  Police work overtime to monitor the security of the area, and have made arrests of dealers selling heroin and cocaine at South Station and at Dewey Square.  However, Occupy Boston residents and activists avoid cooperation and coordination of activities with law enforcement.  Instead, they rely on their own volunteer groups to monitor those who use drugs in the tents and those who return to the camp high and intoxicated.

Dress

Dress travels in backpack,
Soaring in overhead bins
Of airplanes bound to Dallas,
For family visit in June.
Navy blue Dress
Carries a bouquet
Of gray flower prints.
Pleasant & lovely,
Dress fulfills all needs.
She rides bikes &
Evades greasy chains.
Her cotton fabric
Breathes humid air,
Wicks sweat,
Blocks sun rays.
She sips tea &
Absorbs green stains.
She walks collies &
Dodges muddy paws.
Her modest shapes of
Hemmed sleeves
Hug shoulders,
Button-down collar
Conceal clavicles &
Knee-length skirt
Drapes thighs.
She prays at synagogue &
Observes devout laws.
Versatile & resourceful,
Dress holds good intentions &
Plans to join Girl to
Stepbrother’s highschool graduation.
Dress cannot imagine
Impending consternation.
Father orders Daughter —
Poor communication —
Change Dress or else
Destroy family relations.
Daughter defends Dress
Without hesitation
As her choice represents
Freedom of expression.
Father curses
Defiant contravention &
Tells Daughter,
Go to hell,
For the provocation.
Dress never before met
Such aggravation.
Tut tut, say observers
Of unfortunate situation.
Dress quivers as
Threads unravel,
Button eyes cry,
Sleeves blow noses,
Hems tear,
Pockets empty lint.
Departing Texas,
Dress feels tainted with
Family Dysfunction.
Back in Boston closet,
Dress hangs lonely,
Stares at suitcase of
Emotional baggage,
Coughs mothballs of regret,
Unthreads self-esteem.
Girl perceives Dress
As a reminder of Distress.
She contemplates donation or
Consignment no less,
As Benjamin Franklin
Offers remedy to frustration.

Jury duty

Jurors not authorized to leave room.
Police officer monitors phone.
Sticker badge assigns me twenty-eight
Waiting, I wash and eat purple grapes.
All stand and rise for honorable,
Wonder about case ponderable.
Judge asks us dutiful citizenry
If we hold bias against battery.
Jurors who claim objectivity
Satisfy lawyers through honesty.
Enter gate to shiny olive seat,
Raise right hand for oath before debate.
Clerk stutters and mumbles words unclearly,
I look confused so Judge dismisses me.

breakdance

airborne ankles spin
breakdance soles bruise plum-purple
toes bubble blisters

dance

jelly bellies roll
smushed soles bruise purple as plums
hips juggle sweat drops

weakest link

Casual remark snubs
Manager who blames
Supervisor who accuses
Employee who defends
Stubborn pride.
Accidental liars ignore
Reason to apologize.
Island survivors vote
Weakest link:
Declare with no care to explain,
Order not return here again,
Lure sinker of embarrassed shame,
Burn brand new, unworn uniform,
Ignite red lettered name in flame,
Surprised to feel so little pain.
For decisions immutable,
Acceptance more honorable
Than crying uncomfortable,
Bummer to be so dispensable,
When let go, simply say OK.

indoor street hockey

Indoor street hockey
Players storm unfair referee:
Sticks swing up too high,
Give players five-second timeout!
Goalies cannot score,
Uneven teams, three vs. four!
Skills out of balance,
Wiffle balls all roll out-of-bounds!
Ref abruptly quits,
Friendly rivals enforce rule, strict,
Keep sticks low to floor.
Street players switch to sketch sidewalks,
Rosy chalk sticks dust
Princess with most pink cheeks ever.

rainy weekend

Rain means slow days at the outdoor swimming pool of The Country Club.  Overcast skies and cool, damp air deter all the fair-weather-swimmers.  A lifeguard loses purpose at a pool with no swimmers.  Optional tasks might be to squeegee water out of flooding bathroom floors, tidy papers in the office, or take inventory of lost and found items in the closet.  My personal favorite course of inaction would be to climb to the top of the pile of white towels for a short n.  Instead, I suit up for a swim, and propel myself through the fog on a kickboard.  I feel like an otter.  A squirrel running underneath the row of lawnchairs, sometimes pausing, captivates my attention.  Heart thumping, rain drop dodging.

Lifeguard on Clyde Street

At fifteen minutes to two on the previous afternoon, I adjusted my helmet to bike out to The Country Club.  Sailing down the smooth sidewalks of Larz Anderson Park, I admired the flower and vegetable garden plots.  At the often-ignored stop sign on Goddard Avenue, I cautiously looked both ways at the cross walk, especially wary of drivers with ears glued to phones and with eyes blind to all pedestrians.  I veered on the bumpy asphalt of Clyde Street, and grit my teeth and bent my elbows to assert my place on the road.  Golf caddies stood in the hot sun waiting for Bus 51.  I waved hello.

The Country Club entrance has a yellow stop sign with green letters.  The yellow buildings with horizontal wooden slats and signs with neat green letters seem to follow a uniform color code.  The design evokes friendly greetings between people wearing nametags.  Hello, Club House!  Hello, Curling Building!  Hello, Pool Café!

Station wagons, SUVs with warm engines, and golf carts with keys still in the ignition filled the parking lot.  I ditched my bike at the rack, not bothering to lock it up.  I doubted anybody here, members or staff, would have interest in lifting a Mongoose with rusty chains and sticky handlebars.

My arrival appeared to please my fellow lifeguards on staff.  Another guard could take a break now.  The poolside rotation, mapped out on a time sheet and snapped to a clipboard, placed me at the deep end for the first half hour of my shift.  I put on my uniform—a red swimsuit and a white T-shirt with my name printed in lowercase red letters—and modestly girded my loins in a white towel.  I climbed up the ladder to the white plastic swivel chair, popped open the green canvas umbrella on top of the platform, and proceeded to guard the deep end of the pool.

The afternoon had now heated up to a marked extent.  The dry concrete patios scorched the bare feet of children playing four square and kickboard tennis.  A cool breeze through the pine trees would have been heavenly.  But the trees stood motionless.  Shimmering turquoise blue, chlorinated waters sang an irresistible siren to all poolside-goers.  No child could resist a game of ‘fishy, fishy, cross my ocean’ or a ‘big splash’ diving contest.  Parents gladly dipped in the salty waters to catch their toddlers jumping off the diving board.

Sitting in blazing sunlight, I could feel my temperature begin to rise.  The white towel on my lap now seemed an inadequate shield.  A pang of longing for my broad-rimmed cowboy hat passed through me.  Earlier in the week, I had relinquished my prized hat because it was too unique for staff dress code.  The aquatics director had asked about the whereabouts of the red uniform caps.  I had missed her drift by a wide margin, and replied the hats could be found in the office or storage room.  She proceeded to explain that upper management prohibited guards from wearing the hats of their choice.  I may have looked askance at her a bit.  I explained my prejudice against sunburns, and that I planned to take a firm line to protect my skin against excessive sun exposure.  A moment later, I regretted that I had pitched it so strong.  The effect on her was only to express disbelief a lifeguard at an outdoor swimming pool would be afraid of the sun.  I was still dumbfounded, but I managed to say that I would wear the uniform cap.

Most members had already tanned and freckled at the pool’s summer opening on Memorial Day weekend.  My attention was often drawn to their blistering shoulders, red clavicles, and freckled faces.  I would object to being freckled like a pard, as Jeeves would describe it.  Brown freckles spelled out disaster to my skin health.  Once I tried to explain to a child how a tan could be just as damaging as a burn.  I did not see the benefits of baking like a red bliss potato.  The child cogently argued that parents liked how tans looked, pointing to the mainstream preference for brown olive skin.  Guards and members alike understandably wanted to ‘soak up the sun’ with Sheryl Crow.  Umbrellas provided the only shade on the pool deck.  So I was shocked when guards actively closed the umbrellas.  I would simply reopen the umbrellas.

High above the deep end of the pool, the stale heat stifled all my shouts.  Swimmers in the deep end gained temporary immunity to all instructions and warnings.  A boy wearing flippers and holding a myriad of toys jumped off the diving board with gleeful abandon.  A pair of girls swam over the buoy lines across the lap lanes.  I shouted in vain to enforce pool rules.  Children did listen when I asked them to return to the café area with their cold snacks.  Perhaps they could read my drooling lips.  Icy popsicles with artificial red dyes never looked so refreshing.

Second Time Around

I consign at Second Time Around to earn additional income.  Consignors earn 40% of the final sale price and $20 for each referral*.  STA accepts items based on the season and fashion trends, not brand name.

My experience as a STA consignor has allowed me to contribute to a socially responsible, eco-friendly business.  Shoppers who purchase pre-owned items at a consignment store save the water, energy, and natural resources that go into the manufacture of brand new items.  Sold items go to new closets, not landfills.  Unsold items go to Goodwill donations.