Poetry – Page 126

There’s a Toucan in My Way

There’s a toucan in my way.
Its beak is too colorful.
I’m cold. Why did we come here?

The wildlife has no respect for me.
You see the way that one looked at me?

Vulgar monstrosities. I’m getting sick.
Why did you bring me here?

Do you even have an excuse at this point?
Did you ever listen to me, or are you that dumb?
Birds are the last creatures on earth
I ever wanna witness streaking across the sky.

They’re bullies and overlords
pooping on everything and chirping,
always just chirping. Drive a man insane.

Not just any man, mind you. The kind of man
who takes a gulp from a canteen
before he wrestles a black bear
on the fourth full moon of the Summer.

But there is no fourth full moon
and there never will be.

Who’s Gonna Tell Ya?

What’s funny?
A five-hundred bowling ball processional?

How could that be funny?
[We don’t even know where it’s headed.]

What, do we just throw out catchy phrases now?
Toss out a strip of tawdry wisdom like bacon
and watch the little piggies squeal, just like that.

But why not? What do we have to lose? Pride?
We lost that years ago.

Breathe with the Windows Open

A rolling narrative
describes every action. Intolerable?

Made bearable with time.

So we stand and laugh
at nothing in particular.

Laugh some more.
Have a bite of an apple.

Go on to the dog show.
Corgis look funny.

Go home. Drink. Sleep.
Breathe with the windows open.

Jesus! I’m on the Shitter

“I want a grilled cheese!”
barked the stage man to his uncle.

“We’re out of cheese,”
the old man said.

“Well listen up, the truck has gas.
Go down to the store and pick some up.”

“I have no time for your petty errands.”
He was old, but his comments were fiery.

“Jesus! I’m on the shitter.
Just get the cheese.”

“Shit or get off the pot.”

Hurricanes and Hand Grenades

Nobody did anything about it.
Not that anybody really cared.

Come to think of it,
I’d never seen his face before.
He wasn’t shocked, as most would be,
but calm, serene.
Nothing to say, nothing unusual.
No glints, no glares.
No locked eyes, no stares.
He’d just gotten his paycheck,
he was out on the town.

There were no signs,
there never are.
Dogs smell hurricanes and hand grenades
comin’ from miles away.

Someone Saw That

Someone saw that.
Turmoil built into my forehead
leaked around the kitchen sink.
No swirling involved,
no dish water either.
Silence, as I needed it.
Only sound the pounding of thought.