Mr. Sandwich Shop Guitar Man

I see you

      Turn your pages

I hear you

      Sing your songs

But I know

      You are not here with me

You are not here

      Next to the soda kiosk

         Where thirsty patrons

         Bashfully avoid eye contact

         While cupping ice and drink

You are not here

      Across from the counter

         Of energetic salami assemblers

         Who call your name

         At the end of each song

You are not here

      Near the booth

         Where the father asks

         For Puff the Magic Dragon

         Confused when you say you don't know it

Mr. Sandwich Shop Guitar Man

I see you

      On a different stage

      At a different time

Without the air of

      Pickles and potato chips

Without the air of

      Tired moms and milk shakes

Without the air of

      Longing to be singing

      Anywhere but here

      Anywhere but here

But here you are

      Singing to the sandwiches

      Turning pages to find a tune

      Perfect for a ham and swiss

      Perfect for a pickle

      Perfect for Jackie Paper

         And his dad

         And the counter jockeys

         Who call your name

         And bring you back

So your journey

       May begin

          Again

(c) 2010 Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Squeeze

Force the Art!
  Yes
    Force it out and
    Force it in

  Squeeze
    And twist
      And pull it left
      And pull it right

  You cannot push a key
  You cannot push a mouse
  These are cold
       Steril
         Plastic tools
         That can never know
         That can never know

Force the Art!
  Ha
    It forces you out and
    Forces you in

  Squeezes
    And twists
      And pulls you left
      And pulls you right

  You cannot push a key
  You cannot push a mouse
  For you are a cold
       Steril
       Plastic tool
       That can never know
              Art
         Can never know
              You
           Never know

(c) 2010, Norman Dziedzic Jr.

Her First Ride

I don’t remember my first ride
In a motor vehicle
But I remember when
You told me of yours.

I don’t know what it’s like
To be nine with the world at war.
And then, upon war’s end
To ride my first ride in my uncle’s truck;
Banging out the news on pots and pans
Along with the Church bells of the world.
No, I don’t know what that’s like.
But because you did
I know what peace is.

I don’t know what it’s like
To fall in love with a Jew
In an anti-Semitic world.
But because you did
I know what acceptance and tolerance are.

I don’t know what it’s like
To start a family
During a great depression.
But because you did
I know what determination is.

I don’t know what it’s like
To help raise my sister’s children
On the unexpected death of her husband.
But because you did
I understand what duty is.

I don’t know what it’s like
To watch my family learn
The world is going to war again.
But because you did
I understand what anger and fear are.

I don’t know what it’s like
To take care of an ailing mother
And aging sisters in my home.
But because you did
I understand what service is.

I don’t know what it’s like
To bury a daughter and husband
And return from that depression to live on.
But because you did
I understand what perseverance is.

I don’t know what it’s like
To break a hip late in life
And refuse to give up on living.
But because you did
I understand what Grace is.


I don’t know where we’ll go tomorrow.
But I know that the best path to take.
Is to follow the girl
In the back of the truck
On her first motorized ride.

(c) Copyright 2002, Norman Dziedzic Jr.