Category: My poems

she kept not dying

so we stayed by her bedside, listening
to the bleeps and bloops, the hums and whirs
that had long since replaced her speech

how can I explain those sounds to you
make you understand that they were shouts
bludgeoning our ears, stinging our cheeks

all we wanted was for her to be released
set free from her enforced mechanical existence
allowed to drift off to a place without machines

we talked into the night, there around her bed
coming to terms with the decision we knew
was being forced upon us, like it or not

until finally we called the doctor into the room
explained that it was time for this to end
the noises stopped, and we wept into the silence

10 February 2013
Auburn, AL

brutal youth

I’ve tried to forget
that part of my life
most of it was the drudgery
of counting other people’s cash
sneaking a poem
onto the back
of a checking deposit slip
while the coin counter chugged
and clanked at the end of the room
my shoes were falling apart
I remember the backs were coming off
a fact I tried to conceal
by walking only when necessary
the tape deck in my car still worked
so I played Elvis Costello’s
Juliet Letters and Brutal Youth
again and again and again
imagining myself on stage
a far cry from a teller’s window
most days I’d drive home for lunch
ramen noodles, blue corn chips
and a glass of Wegmans root beer
dinners were usually stir fry or calzones
stuffed with cheese and pepperoni
the two saving graces were
the poetry readings at Java’s
and Wendy from the bookstore
at Java’s I felt like I might do more
than just balance a register forever
with Wendy, I thought I might find more
than just another good friend

*

you can only count other people’s money
for so long before it drives you mad
so one morning, as the sun was coming up
I packed everything I owned
into my tiny black car
pointed it toward the west
drove away
not because I didn’t love her
but because I needed saving
and the desert was my only hope
twenty years on I’ve forgotten
most of what happened back then
I can’t remember names
I can barely remember faces
but I still remember her holding my hands
in the parking lot
and I regret not kissing her goodbye

8 February 2013
Auburn, AL

agonism
(for JM)

she says he doesn’t
understand her meaning
he says she never
says what she means
soon they’re raising their voices
he flails his arms
like an inflatable man
outside a used car dealership
like most arguments, after a while
the initial point gets lost
in the ever-lengthening litany
of past injustices
until eventually both
are too confused to stay angry
he laughs, a toe in the water
she laughs, the tide coming in
both say they’re sorry
lace their fingers together
walk upstairs to make love
tomorrow or the next day
or next week or next month
another spark will light the brush
clearing out the dead wood
making room for new growth

6 February 2013
Auburn, AL

/ / /

Today a friend explained to me the meaning of the word “agonism.” This poem is the result. The Tiananmen Square photo is by Jeff Widener of the Associated Press.

yardbird

I’m in love with the sound
of the dove that sings in my yard

even the mangy dog who lives
behind the split-log fence

in a pen designed for a larger animal
can’t hen-peck that dove off her tree

(I was once chased from a pond
by the suggestion of an alligator

and though I’m no hater of reptiles
I went, I can tell you)

but not this bird I love
this dove faces danger

the dog barks a bright orange warning
not a mirage but real quicksand

yet the dove keeps to her shade
ignoring the parade of yaps and snarls

I associate doves with being blue
the same way I tack meaning to the moo(n)

or assume the flight of a crane
is welcoming me home again

5 February 2013
Auburn, AL

/ / /

This poem is based on a challenge by the poet Daniel Nester, who said to use specific rhymes: love/dove dog/log pen/hen alligator/hater love/dove orange/mirage shade/parade blue/moo YourName/rhyme.

historical fact

right here
this is the place
the very spot
it was on this
little patch of earth
that our ancestors
made the fateful choice
that still rings down
through the ages
it was here
no place else
that they dropped
a firm anchor
saying
“here we make our stand”
and stand they did
on this very place

wait, no
it was over there

2 February 2013
Auburn, AL

breakfast with Patton Oswalt

we sit in my Harvest Gold kitchen
eating Stella D’oro Breakfast Treats
Patton is reading The Brave
and the Bold #28 (first appearance
of the original Justice League)
while I rekindle my 70s childhood
with the first issue of Nova

there’s something about starting the day
with Patton that makes everything brighter
admittedly, he’s a little grumpy when
he first gets out of bed, but by the time
the coffee is sloshing through his veins
he’s, if not a ray of sunshine, at least
a Lite-Brite glimmer in the breakfast nook

we have the best conversations, too
Patton knows a lot about the stuff I like
more than I do, and I’m not ashamed to say it
but he never lords it over me at the table
if he makes a reference and I don’t get it
he explains it patiently between sips
until we’re both on the same page

it took me a while to build him
the parts weren’t easy to get, what with
post-9/11 graveyard security and all
but my buddy got a job with the Diocese
and that made things a lot easier
after that, all we needed was lightning
and the awesome power of Jesus

so now every day is a beautiful day
here in Somewhere, USA
I make a joke and Patton laughs
he spills some coffee and I smile
if I’ve found a particularly fresh packet
of Stella D’oros, Patton might even pretend
to play the guitar, splackety-blackety-bloo!

30 January 2013
Auburn, AL

/ / /

Photo from Sub Pop Records