poemS of the day 05.27.13

memorial day

i told her we should

go to the park and have

a picnic.

she told me i hated picnics,

which is true.

picnics and parades

and kids and dogs

and disney and

the 4^th of july and

football sundays

and people who talk to me

in bars when all i want is

a drink.

but it was worth a shot.

the summer was coming

already the cats were laying

on the linoleum in a heat-induced

coma.

it was getting harder to fuck,

burning and sweating until

we had to pour water on each

other’s assholes just to

settle down.

in a month the apartment

would be unbearable.

we had to get out and do something

now, i thought.

maybe we could just walk up

and down elmwood avenue,

going only into the air conditioned shops

but you hate people and shopping too, she said.

which was also correct.

so we opened up a couple of bottles

of cheap wine,

then the 12 pack of yuengling,

pulled down the shades,

and didn’t answer the phone.

we watched a couple of bad movies,

and fell asleep before the sun went down.

it was a good holiday

                        05.30.06

ballgame with my old man

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

two arthritic knees

and our bad shoulders are coming along

i hope that our team jersey wins

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

my allegiances stitched on hats and shirts

thwarting a stadium full of angry fans

we aren’t on our home turf

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we have our wives with us

and they don’t mind coming along

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

it’s memorial day

in the united states

and i’m thinking that it’s

been a while since my old man and i

saw a ballgame together

we’re drinking cheap beer

in a ballpark steakhouse

taking photos as country songs are piped in

remembering what it was like

when he took my brother and i

to games when we were children

my brother and i

are hot dogs and cokes

in the memory of the humid pittsburgh sun

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we’ve already been

to the top of the empire state building

and all over manhattan

we went to katz’s for

corned beef sandwiches

i still have an okay job

but my old man paid

still i can buy him

beer and dinner

italian food in brooklyn

whenever i want

i can get him all of the hot dogs

and cokes that he needs

i don’t know if that matters

he won’t even take the lemonade

that comes in a souvenir cup

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we’re sitting in the nosebleed seats

like in the old days

checking out scoreboard america

and watching all of those expensive ants

shag fly balls out in center field

trying to figure out who’s who

with our aging eyes

as military bands play at home plate

and people file into their seats

with plastic cups of beer

and cheese covered nachos

everyone looks happy

and for a change, i don’t care

because i’m at the ballgame with my old man

and damn if i don’t feel

like a kid again.

                        06.06.11

tradition

she says, you hate tradition, don’t you

i tell her that i hate it from auld lang syne

all the way down to silent night

she says, you’re nuts

you just don’t want to like what others like

i tell her that may be so, but i’ll be damned if i choke

on another thanksgiving turkey

or memorial day hot dog again

she says, you won’t have a choice

i tell her i know

i’m trapped in a situation perpetuated by fools

easter ham in april

and fireworks every fourth of july

she says, tradition makes people happy

that it gives them something to look forward to

i tell her that tradition makes people complacent and dull

she says, go hang on a string of christmas lights

and i tell how about a cross instead

there’s something wrong with you, she says

i’m just like everyone else, i tell her

now give me a pint of green beer and a red heart full of chocolate

carve me into a pumpkin

and wake me when it’s election day

she says, there’s just no talking to you

i tell her that many have tried and failed

so i guess you won’t be coming to my next oscar party, she says

nor your labor day barbeque, i add

impossible, she says, getting up

and storming into the cafeteria

where they serve a mean fish fry

to the devout and hungry

every friday afternoon

during lent.

                                    10.15.12