A HARD CHAIR
I have not
learned how
to property
balance
the mundane
details of life,
the phone bill,
the gas bill,
an overdue
library book.
A tiny bird
hops along
the broken
concrete wall
channeling
the river.
I am only concerned
with how beautiful
things
also must struggle,
yet
they show little
anxiety
for tomorrow's
rent
or appetite
for memory.
A wasp fans
a nest of mud,
the river sluggishly
flows
through a steamy
Jersey July,
the hospital
expects money.
Where is that
peace in which
we can enjoy
our modest blessings,
our human troubles,
our daily bread,
a sturdy tent
& the lovely
presence of
children?
I have been
asking this question
for six-thousand
years.
Forgive these
ancient complaints,
for I have
chosen a hard chair
as my bleak
watchtower,
& in its
squeaky springs
I hear the
rusty pulley
on my mother's
clotheslines
when dandelions
were yellow flowers.
I will give
them their dollars
enclosed with
an ugly silence,
then listen
for the thunderstorm
crackling through
my radio.
THE BURGLAR
You are always
sneaking
into my apartment
when I am not
at home
using the key
you never returned.
I could not
find the screwdriver
until it appeared
beneath a bookshelf
in a bag
with the pliers
I never put there.
When I reached
for the spaghetti
in the cabinet
above the stove,
it was gone,
so were the corn flakes.
Did I eat them
in my sleep?
Now the old
broom is missing.
There are no
secret closets
in this small,
cluttered home.
Did you command
it to fly away?
You are always
stealing things I need,
but I know
I hide them from myself,
& you have
not come back
& I have
nothing you want.
MATCHMAKING
On a fair day my mother
met me
halfway between her home
& mine,
on the street behind the
high school.
As I accepted Her sloppy
kisses, she said,
"I sent you money
for your rent."
We were always indifferent
or enraged
whenever we saw each other.
Mom invited me for dinner
tomorrow, it's Thanksgiving,
I forgot. "I don't think my sister
wants to see me,"
I said.
Mom replied, "Come
late, Jean's leaving early.
There's a woman who wants
to meet you,
she's been watching you,
but you never noticed her.
"
Waking, I thought, Oh great,
I hope she's not dead,
too.
SHE SAID
You're not
right for me,
you wallow
in your emotions,
express a perverse
desire to die
& be reincarnated
as a frog
copulating
beneath a full moon.
I want a platonic
relationship
like the one
I had with my husband
until that
emaciated tramp
spread her
skinny legs for him
on his bowling
night,
that was five
years ago & I'm still
waiting for
him to come to his senses.
I USE A DEAD LANGUAGE
KNOWN ONLY TO MYSELF
I want my critics to say
I am a clown.
I wish to be introduced
as one of the Fratalini
Brothers,
those generations of painted
idiots
who amused the royal families
of Europe.
My desire is to carry on
as if
no dark abyss has opened
at my feet,
as if the moon were not
endangered
by our indifference, as
if
the hermaphrodite angel
whispering in my ear at
this
very moment did not exist.
Where are those works of
genius
recorded on fragile papyrus,
now become dust, ground
up,
mixed with mud to make
bricks
to build the prisons of
tyrants?
Who dares waste a bare
tree
with a simile? I care
when a cloud resembles Elvis.
UNTITLED
Saddam was caught while I was locked up.
The excitement for me lasted
about ten minutes, until the next American soldier was killed. Whoops,
guess the war ain't over. When I was a kid, I wanted something
like a
spider hole to hide from my family. That's what snow castles are all
about.
My fav
person in the hospital was Kathleen - she could have been
50 or 75
- had
cerebral palsy, acted senile sometimes, like chanting "mirror
mirror
on the wall" or yelling "I want to die" when
what she meant was
"take
me to my room." Good judge of character - threw
food at the ones
she
didn't like (no dangerous folks on mt ward). I liked
her, simply
left
the day room when she became a nuisance. Most definite
twinkle in
her
eyes - her anger from helplessless. People yelled at
her like she
was
hard of hearing. She was not. Recognized her as
a Trickster.
Sometimes
it was real, sometimes an act. Gave her a big kiss on the
cheek
when
she was moved out. "Goodbye Bob" she croaked.
Voice like Froggy in
the
Little Rascals. Two Haitian women, one sang sad gospel
hymns with
tears
pouring out - creepy crucified God. The other hummed
lovely island
folk
tunes or "Go tell it on the mountain." Eternal
Light.