poem of the day 09.09.08

aftermath of dvorak’s birthday

antonin
the super tells us that there
is no shortage
and that we’ve blown a fuse
he smells like cigarettes and futility
and he is in our kitchen
turning the knobs
on the faucet
and telling us not to burn
the place down.
but wouldn’t that be a trick
antonin?
to burn it all down
me, all the possessions
all of these poems
that have been collecting
over the years
have it all go up in a final
symphony of flames.
i think this as the super
checks the fuse box
flips a switch and leaves.
then ally and i screw in
a lightbulb
and nothing works.
it never works.
and we both know
it’ll be november before
we see light
in our bedroom.
so we go back into
where the radio is playing
your 9th
a big celebration because
today
you just turned 167 years old.
i’m down with it
but ally isn’t.
she has a slug on her scotch
and says the super
can do nothing right.
i think this is true.
but then he appears outside
our window
a camel in his mouth
and a hose in his hand.
he is spraying the sidewalk
and the mist collects
on our window
right as your symphony
crescendos
and the rain clouds settle in
over bay ridge parkway
blanketing another day
in this life.