Almost seven years ago, I was getting ready to self-publish a chapbook of poetry with the help of my friends at Galuminumfoil Productions. I had a difficult time coming up with a fitting title; the poems were nothing really--thoughts, observations, silly little 10 cent plastic thrift store pigs sold at the register to impulsive buyers. But there were a lot of them (for a self-published, first chapbook), and, at least to me, collectively they meant something.
My wife bought these little pigs. Hundreds of them over our time living in Amenia, New York. She gave them to anybody she felt needed one, and she noticed they made people smile. One afternoon she came home with a bagful, and when I asked her how many she bought she replied, "Five dollars worth."
And I realized that was a lot of pigs, and that, in a way, my poems were much like these dimestore pigs. So I titled my collection accordingly.
These days I live in Minnesota and don't write as much as I need to. I miss my friends in Brooklyn who challenge me to be a better person, my Yankees in the Bronx, my sushi restaurant in Jamaica Plain, my brother singing karaoke in Queens, my mother in North Syracuse waiting for us to move back.
And once again, perhaps, my wife has come to my rescue, introducing me to the idea of blogging. It seems to me that these posts could prove a lot like poems--little 10 cent pigs that, perhaps, can make someone smile.
