Showing posts with label poem 12. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem 12. Show all posts
Monday, January 23, 2017
Dog nights
Stella
Duke
Junior
Snoopy
Nike
You single?
You should date Duke's dad.
He's not bad looking.
M's first time out past dark.
The air is warm
And he might be overdressed in his red snowsuit,
But how's a mother to know?
And better safe than sorry
Or you'll hear, girl, that baby needs a blanket from any passing stranger.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
GOODBYE B (kaddish)
Nonnie died before Phil and
Phil died before Prince
and you died, yesterday
long before love
love cries in the
California clay house
full of songs and dogs
cries and laughs and
wants to burn the bed –
good smoke
of a good love
of a good man
sent up between
the branches
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Gobbinjr
i just wanna be a firefly
i just want the human race to die
singing along so screamingly my voice cracks and buckles,
racing upwards in a white car with an old best friend
in the passenger seat. listening, looking
out the window with her hands in her lap, eyes
widened by the twist tie switchback curves in
this old potholed road.
how’s school, one year left?
she asks and i nod but can’t stop singing
even though i know she’s nervous. more like
because. because she’s nervous and it feels
better to not care than assuage her worries;
since even if i do–i’ll still know
that she lives with her fiance in a
huge brownstone in the south end
with her huger ring and talks most days about
the wedding and now i live in this mostly brown
and gray town with mountains and sometimes
steal toilet paper from restrooms at the university.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Dinged
Garrotte someone with my hamstring,
fish with it, even. I hope for its utility beyond the
disconnected kitchen shuffle into disinterested fridge audit.
Hamstring, drier than the cake of mustard on the jar thread,
if it snaps, what do I stem the tide with next?
fish with it, even. I hope for its utility beyond the
disconnected kitchen shuffle into disinterested fridge audit.
Hamstring, drier than the cake of mustard on the jar thread,
if it snaps, what do I stem the tide with next?
Thursday, January 12, 2017
incident report #2
a night when there's a knock on the door
and the delivery guy already came through
so i already know why they're there
and this time i hate being right
the police at my door
they need my id
filing a report
not presses charges
because this guy is nice
but i'm nice too
a quick lecture
then they're gone
close the door
and i cry
and the delivery guy already came through
so i already know why they're there
and this time i hate being right
the police at my door
they need my id
filing a report
not presses charges
because this guy is nice
but i'm nice too
a quick lecture
then they're gone
close the door
and i cry
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