POEM

                             An American by Constitution

OK.
Volunteering to go fight in a war, is hard.

Hard, for the family she leaves behind.
America’s soiled by a single father

Who can’t afford the rent. While a United States
Senator falsifies his Net-worth to the IRS.

Who marches to the beat of plenty?
The CEO who’s holding it, a refugee who needs it, or

A President, who will destroy it. Pro-choice
Between men and women carry different values;

Then you add Black Awareness Day, Christians and Muslims killing each other,
Infidelity among neighbors, prison facilities for alien children…

The list can be made new everyday,
How many pages do I have here?

Now I stand ashamed of myself.
I drank too much wine, and voted too late.

Another Poem

The Devil Talked Back

Been almost eight years
since you slid your fingers
around the neck of my body.
Do you miss me?

While you’ve been gone others
have enjoyed my smooth syrup,
mixing with elixirs, easily swallowed,
using me until night’s end. I don’t mind.

For you, I wait. I sit within my dated
barrel and age—the older the better
they say.

Some enjoy me sweat and sour, or
with sugared cherries—Manhattan please.
Or, perhaps a Sidecar. No matter.
You know me best, naked and neat.

I don’t feel ignored by the absence of
your touch. I know your blood flows thick
without me. Yadi, Yadi, I know you think
about me everyday. Just one more taste.

No-one will know, it can be our secret.

I can hide behind the linens in
your closet; The backseat of your car;
In the bathroom on the airplane—
mile high club?

Is that too much? Go on then, let me age.
I know you like a challenge.
I am everywhere. I’ll be waiting.

A Poem

Girls:

The joint couldn’t have been any bigger than my first studio apartment.
I entered through a haze of smoke to the innards of a beast’s heart.
Red all around me, with welts of black in form of table tops.
The stage was short in height but ran along the whole of one wall,
The wall of the room which had no windows.

In fact, come to think it,
The whole bit was dark, not a window insight.
The only way out
Is the way you came in.

My feet vibrated along with the base, making my shoes slip on and off
As I walked towards the bar. Metal stools lined up and filled with asses,
Bare asses. Each girl wore a blonde, red, or brown wig—couple of them
Had blue streaks. I found an empty seat and slid into it, next to the blue.

The bartender asked me, “What’s your poison?”
“Bourbon, straight.” I played with a lighter, ran it through my fingers rotating each one.
“Five. Five dollars.” She snapped my money faster than I could think what the change would be out of ten.
“Can I have ones…”
But she already knew and surrendered five crispy, one dollar bills. I snatched them up and handed one back, “Thanks.”

She didn’t say a word, just flipped her black hair off her shoulders
And straightened her Betty Page bangs. Her red and black corset
Pushed up on her body, raising her bust and spilling her cleavage.
Tattoo’s of pin up’s traced her arms, shoulders, and lower back.

Her eyes narrowed.

A Poem

Asking for Forgiveness

Dad. Keep playing the guitar while
I tell you about my real fears, my
wishes. I wont lie, I wont hide.
Forgive my foolishness. Please?

He exclaims, my dad, his wishes.
Come see him play, come watch,
Stand next to him, and read the
lyrics coming from the stand.

Marriage and kids, how do I tell Emma
that I can’t be the Auntie she deserves.
My dad asked, What have you learned
from living on the farm?

I wanted to tell him that I learned I was
exactly who he raised me to be, instead
I answered, I learned how to drive a tractor,
clean a coop, and dig up garlic. Sweaty mess.

My dad wrapped his arm around my shoulder,
and I know he’s trying.

A POEM

SHARPEVILLE CARNAL
The gun echoes through the doorways, retrovoom and downtrodden
hooves shed the dirt, hunger snorting the tendency and ready
but
halting, for a split second.

Capes coating their eyes, coats from the closet, a hidden closet
it goes places imperceptible, like the horses, ride ride ride.
Let’s continue.

Forever the hooves hawling the dirt — running — away or to you? Don’t open the gate,
secure all guarding edges; It’s the latter which is expired before the opening to catch
a runaway.

Pop pop pop like a can of coke the exploding “crisis” cannot scare the connector to
the hooves. The dirt, it chokes on construction-paper capes. Rainbows swirling, oh, the capes: like the fizz tickles up your nose, always keep it distant.

Round 2, oops, lap 2. The whistle cracks. According to my neighbor, I’’m new
at this. Clomp clomp clomping hooves, flowing flowing flowing capes, covered
eyes. Poor pasteurized beasts, it’s the race for your infinite win.

Survive, take the turn, dig deeper, stomping out the brokenness.

Their quinceanera sill is perched where the ribbons dangle, part of the brailing complete with communipaw hair. Do you see it? God must have placed it there.

God, hooves accompaniment of nothing, except, nature. An organic speed
at ordinary velocity permeates a race ahead.

Stay in place.
Launched for play.

Round round round they go trollopping the weedless trails, crazed by non-meaning production
value. Money money money reigns. Trop trop trop through their laughter and focus on the doorways to Kmart.

Redemption—do you know about the killings? Is it twice a day around the        weedless trails, round they galloptrop their hooves. Expendable, dying.

A Cobb Salad is delivered to Janet Green.
A bottle of champaign overflows; the flowpop, gallop and overabundant.

The end is near, Sugar Bowl has taken the lead; yes, yes.

Now the corpse needs a hearing aide. The cricket cries, Milady. Looking beautiful
but biassed, a remote Mr. Droppings. A tyranny of a buttkisser and continues to
litter the weedless trails, wandering out to the uncleared landscape. Hysterical recognition.
Kitty Jackson pulled out askew suitors. Gaudy sill, gaudy brailing. The, “Super Box,” Miss
Kitty Jackson wharls past, splitting monsters, grinding dirt, spraying litter.
Suddenly blazing.