poem

Elegy for a Sole Normand

God bless this sole.  When he was just a sprat
he defied his fishy dorsal fate
by lying on his side on the sea bed,
and still lies in that posture on my plate,
which connotes to other fishes dead.
He conquered nausea and got it right.

Lullaby for the Bereaved

Your hours of tears won’t let you follow
Those who’ve left you alone.
Tonight your head lies on a pillow,
Not beneath earth and stone.

The dead won’t be returning,
Not for all of your pleas,
Nor for all your candles burning.
Get up off your knees.

Face Down In History

Then the gypsies abandoned their camp
and the stars sank down to candles.
All I could see was what could be
surmised from circumstance,
a dancing bear with a head scarf
and one gold earring climbing into a cab.
I was never so young again.
The banished Polish princess
who shared her orange
spit the seeds out on the floor.
She said rule number one was simple,
like the valley between her breasts.
There was no rule number two.

That Summer

The roof burned continuously.
I passed long hours learning

the names of various shades of blue –
Air Force blue, cornflower blue,

Persian blue, periwinkle.
Night came early where I lived

with my mother and three brothers
and no one to read to me to sleep,

though the herd of clouds grazing
at the end of the street would always

lift their big, shaggy heads to listen.

A Snowball’s Chance...

Collapsing on the learner's slope at Aspen
I skied downhill into Hell.
I can recall as my aneurism burst,
Clutching snow; then an acrid smell.

The devil came striding toward me.
Still feeling mortal, I did as mortals do:
I squeezed the icy crystals into a ball
And, hard as I could, I threw!

It melted as it left my phantom fingers
Resolving into a dew.
Satan cackled, "Son! The fun has just begun!
Every cliché here comes true!"

Que Bella!

Saint Bruce

             As Stephen who looked to heaven and prayed
             into thy mercy all innocents accept,
             and as James, the Reconciler,

When I Least Expect It

In the seats around a classroom
or a supermarket line,
when I’m caught between two men,
I feel the space between my legs
and feel it burn between my thighs,
feel it burn like stocking chafe,
like bike-wreck knees, like Clorox burn.

Weeding a Dog’s Grave

A Warning Sign

Just wait a second, I’ll go put him down.
She could have been referring to a child
On his feet in the crib, wailing the darkness wild,
When she broke off a kiss to face the sound.

A screen door sighed and shut. The barking stopped.
He laid a while, hands behind his head,
Before his ears flicked back. Sprung off the bed
He panicked down the stairs in three long skips.