Wednesday, March 20, 2013

poemS of the day 03.20.13

some poems for spring...even though it's going to be 42 fucking degrees out in Brooklyn today:


you can watch him going
back and forth
in and out the door
to answer his cell phone
or just sit there
and be thankful that it isn’t you
watch him get red-faced
looking at the coming schedule
scanning it for his name
hoping by some magic that
i’ll appear there
or you can grab a piece
of scrap paper and plan
tonight’s meal at home
this isn’t your fault
not even your decision
watch as the phone rings
maybe it’s his wife
the one who just beat cancer
or the lawyer calling
the one who thinks he might
have a case
or just ignore him
and the read the new york times online
the editorials and articles
confirming how fucked up
the world has gotten
as if you needed proof
as if the sweating, red-faced man
before you
the one telling everyone that he’s
going to end up in a shelter
if he looses this job
isn’t proof enough
read the newspapers
or stare dumbly into the face
of the reality
close out the computer screen
to say something reassuring to him
even though you never liked him
tell him a joke
tell him it’ll be all right
say some bullshit
like it’ll all work out in the end
people like to hear that
don’t look when he grabs at his heart
and goes on about his condition
you know he’s got a bad heart
he’s clocked in all of those sick days
going to a cardiac specialist
if you worry that he’ll have a heart attack
and you’ll miss your bus filling out
paperwork, that’s okay
you’re only human
and when his phone rings again
the cancer victim wife
the lawyer
try to tell him kindly to take
the conversation to the staff room
or outside
because he’s disturbing the customers
talking in here
the staff is complaining
and because we got no room for that
kind of sadness
floating around in here
on such a quiet friday afternoon
with the sun out
the doors and windows open
and spring finally in the air.



hard to think that it has
taken me so long to
recognize you but here
comes the budding trees,
the birds outside my open
window, and softened air.
has the city made me
so absentminded as to
forget such beauty?
ah, I’d rather lay on
the grass with wine in my
belly than watch your waning
sunsets blossom summer’s


late spring in buffalo
            -after shell silverstein and emily dickinson

as gloomy
            as winter
as gloomy
            as fall
it’s like being inside
            of something that’s dying
and that ain’t no fun
            at all.


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