Tag Archives: thrift shopping

Road Tripping

Traveling those blue highways those rural routes

of back roads, of byways weaving through

small town USA where life thrives in a

slow way if it thrives at all

With empty old shops surrounding

the local hardware and there’s

a café and gas station at the corner


Rosey’s Cafe printed across the window

neon light blinking “OPEN” calling me

come on in for lunch, not to forget that

breakfast is served all day everyday

Breakfast it is with the proper amount of grease

and grits, thick bacon and that toast

that is square, fat and slathered with butter

with a side of homemade strawberry jam.


Across the street, a thrift store with antiques

a passion for me, a junker’s paradise, a road

tripping pirated looking for bounty.

These shops can be hoarder full,

barely able to walk through

with mountains of rummage collected

hangered and stacked with some order that

defies the meaning of what order is


Somebody’s grandparent’s ancient old shit

an estate of family collectables unwanted

heirlooms broken to be fixed in the never will be

Generation of not letting go, now needing it to go.

Families don’t know what to do with what’s

left after the scramble and pawing through it

dumped now in these shops in the hope that

making a few dollars off of someone’s forgotten

 treasure is for a ’picker’ something to celebrate.


Not enough people pass through these

off-the-main-drag small rural communities

to buy the leftovers of old dead people

long gone with outdated uselessness

only worth the rummage to a true junker

A pirate of the byways seeking treasure

I hear the call. I stop for the joy in the hunt

following a garage sale sign

in the middle of Midwest nowhere

passing alfalfa fields with poor farmers eking

a living with a few cows and chickens and a big

gardening full of vegetables and flowers for some

local prosperity to keep the living pulse Ok enough


This sign aiming me onto a damn dirt road

where the grass grows down the center of it

and the rain puddle too deep I have to turn around

Should have turned left at that last cross-road

Should have let the grass be a sure sign of nowhere.

I should on myself yet again, only to arrive at

the best garage sale ever smelling the methane in the air


It’s good to know yourself as a compass traveling this way

or at least how to follow the sun cause that’s maybe

what you need to follow unless you decide

that sooner of later you’ll hit a main road

if you go far enough in one direction or another

That’s iffy and then again. hell you’re on a road trip

taking the blue highways where ever looking for stuff

stopping when you like, sleeping at JoJo’s motel

just on the edge of that town you passed through

a few miles back deciding it was time to make it a day.

Turning around cause you’re pretty sure there’s not

much you’ll come across any time soon on C32


Sitting at the café’ counter connected to JoJo’s,

my appetite worked up for all the seeking of treasure

and the miles of driving and stopping

ordering the meatloaf with mash potatoes, gravy

and boiled carrots with maple butter dripping on them

striking up a conversation with a woman named Peggy

with her over bleached permed hair, too tight jeans,

a hot pink tank top showing every curve she wants you to linger on

She wonders why a woman like me, in my jeans,

my black peace sign tee shirt, rings on every finger

and my ratty old Birkenstocks that serve me well

is alone without a man on road trip like this

Isn’t that dangerous? Wasn’t I scared?

Why would I ever travel alone?   

She couldn’t image it.

I ask her who does her hair.



jeanne adwani. @copyright



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Filed under A Pilgrams Journey, jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month


yawn… get some oxygen into those morning lungs.  And.. sippy the coffee

Yesterdays poetic endeavor was pretty Bla Bla.  I couldn’t help myself.   I think I should publish the dang thing.

 think I’ll get back to some Thrift shop poetry.



Hanging here casual like

Hopeful panty hose ready

to slink onto some legs

Remembering the nylon hold

over those legs that once desired them

The feel of skin freshly shaved

pulling and stretching, fitting

all tan and slender, tight and

smooth.  Sexy sleek over the belly


They check you out as you pass

Slinking out leggy commentary 

“Look at her, she could use a little

a little support on that belly.”

“And what about that map of veins

on that old broad?’

“That is a pasty white girl if I

ever saw one.”


Hanging here now loose empty

A trinity of discarded legs

going nowhere fast 










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Last day of Poetry Month.  For me… One year and a month of poetry writing. Yewoza.  So… I have a plan, I always have a plan… and I went to the local thrift shop cause I love a good thrifting and took some pictures.  I played around with them on my camera and I’m going to use them to inspire  some Thrift Shop Poetry.  A junker’s dreamin’.


Around again.  Really


Cotton and soft worn just right for her butt

Left behind in a black bag with all her old stuff

YOu knew it was hard for her to part with these panties

Hanging with that matching light pink little cami


The panties were filled with sexy hot memory

Mostly in the taking off for her man Henry

Well Henry he left her for hot pink bikinis

That slipped off the ass and were very sleazy


Her heart it was broken no more cotton for her

Not brief enough for Henry that slimy cur.

Forget that low bastard he’s not worth the ache

There’s plenty of panties that elicit a date


She found a new man in her silky white slip

Why bother with panties when you’re naked and fit

No need to be bothered with slipping them off

Over the head when you wanna get buffed


Now Henry that dog, was sniffing the thrift

Came upon a row of knickers and slips

Got all nostalgic when he found her’s hangin’ there

Remembers her hot body silky and bare


He dials her number with hopes to rekindle

The love she wove round his heart with her spindle

Too late you idiot her cotton panties are all gone

She traded them in for silky slips and John




















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There is no cramp in all these things

All these things and the stuff that

fills your eyes with comfort and

pleasure for the having of them.

Curios of life’s adventures and

thrift shop finds and antique malls

and garage sale treasures.

Family heirlooms with history

made to be seen for the stories they tell

Somethings fill that void of wanting

Even in the no feel of want or notice of void


Sippy the coffee…  Here’s where this is going….




It’s the great Show n’ Tell of a pirates quest

Dug up n’ scavenged from someone else’s chest

Pulled right out of their heart for the take

and the story that is now mine for the telling

And who doesn’t like a good story from the heart

told with a peg leg, a parrot, and blind eye?


This Pirate doesn’t live in sparse, or the let go,

or the relinquish of treasure beneath the sand

castle with the tide coming in on time

I see perfectly and only walk with a lilt.

I wear my hat at a rakish angle and

I let that parrot free long ago 

The ocean air is mine to breathe

And I sail my ship no matter 

the way of the wind


I like my bounty and I share it.

And like any good pirate with an

‘argh’ and straight shot of white lightnin’

I revel in the quest and the find

The ‘x’ marks the spot right there

The shown n’ tell of the sharing

Finding the heart of the matter

in the doubloon of your soul

cause my friend if you don’t want it

I just might or I find someone that does


I’m here for the story and the things 

pretty on the eyes, and the quest

of an old Pirate who finds pleasure

in other’s fading stories worth a

bounty full of treasure







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