Creative ideas and plans on Rockwell Parking Meter

This is a great book, prints of paintings, drawings, Saturday Evening Post covers, and some private collection photos.

If you remember seeing Norman Rockwell’s paintings, this would be the biggest collection of them in one place that you will find.

The quality of the print is first rate, highly colorful. I posted a few photos of my copy.

This is a collector’s item in my view, a great coffee table book, and fun to browse and read.

Opinions on this poem I wrote?
Chop ShopI’m smack in the middle of God’s country. Archaic auto shop, dirt parking lot,Blip of hell on the radar of heaven.I’m not exactly a spiritual manBut here the air reaks supernatural.The place is quaint–like, Norman Rockwell quaint.My nostrils snap with the smell though the doors. It feels like real life in another life.The man at the desk with the overbite,He says to me: “Be about a half hour.”I sit at the couch, one with splotchy stains.A blowout here is a pinch in a dream.On the wood TV, reruns of Gunsmoke.The coffee is watered down Rockwell Parking Meter and cold.Nearly brushing my leg was the angel,Alien, or sickly hallucination;Was it the sound of old, or smell of mold?Anyways, she might have been God, if GodWere 50 with an 80’s redneck mulletAnd a thin bristly mustache hoveringOver her slimy, jerky eating lips.She looked like a crusty wax figurineOn display in a forgotten museum.I’m on the arm of the puke-tan devan,With the steady sounds of drilling drowning Her open-faced kisses with turkey meat.The lights flicker like a high flash picture;It was some sick ghost documenting this.I flick my watch–the second hand is stuck.Everyday appliances fleet with my luck.The lady turns to me, she says to me:”Rat bastard went and left me in the dust.”I tried to ignore, but her irises, They bored into my bored head, reared to bust.”Excuse me?” I somehow managed to thrust.Her glass eyes glared. “You can stay with me here,Or you can git the hell off of my couch.”We sat bathed in the sound of drills and pistols.My Diablo done, I jumped in, sped out,I sped off into the forest voidOf any reasonable direction.Next time I sin remind my soulGod eats jerky in an auto shopOn the cut-off by Ferndale Road
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