How to Hate Yourself
do
as
i
do
(In Memoriam: Patrick Lally 1945 – 1968)
The art of losing isn’t hard to master. – Elizabeth Bishop
Didn’t know the stars on that clear night
only the big dipper remembered from camp
twirling round-the-pole like a tipsy bear
had not made love by the end of my teens
no desperate grip of zipper
no awkward clutch of breast or rump
lived in a time before seat belts when
my brother (someone’s passenger) could fly
into the vast disaster of unintended swerve
We did what had to be done and then
alone in the back of my parent’s Fairlane
I pressed my face to the cold window
to watch god rise up to the scoup of the sky
an ascension with a one-way ticket
gone my Virgil, gone my guide
The next day I heard my mother’s voice
a long-distance call without charge
cracking to say “be careful”
As I went to sleep last night,
I had the most brilliant
first line
for a poem
As I went to sleep last night.
He only acts out when there are no limits
If there are restrictions
His path is against him
And no noble move made.
A sheepish goat
Laced with gold
From his roots
Not his leaves.
Poverty is
two for a dollar
reheated soup
two days past its prime
Privilege is
a four year old
pushing the bowl away
“We have this too much”
Parenting is my
never knowing
why
Korea is a far place away.
Daddy is over there fighting
Another war, No such luck
That beating the Germans
Made the world safe.
The world is not my worry,
Little sister is taking on like
It’s all about her missing Pa.
Mommy cries all day leaves
Nobody but me to step up.
Piano to practice, cookies to sell, cow
To milk, stoker to fill, no time for
The big game or fishing,chores first,
Reading my book has to wait. I’m
Thinking being oldest is a bad bargain.
Coal dust in my hair, a sure turn off
For the dreamy boy in homeroom.
Scarlett O Hara wore green curtains
In the book I can’t finish. My dungarees
And coal tatoos make me plain hopeless.
Pa please hurry and get this new war
Signed off and over. Being twelve
Is too young to count and too old to fuss.
Once I could yell I was going out to eat
Worms. Now all alone, I just grit and bear.
K. Bruce Florence
the last time
you spoke to god
he sounded busy
you told him
no problem
you understood
you told him
let’s get together sometime soon
he said of course
sure definitely
that sounded really fun
but you haven’t heard
from him since.
for you,
god has always been
the type of friend
that asks
how you are doing
but, were he to be honest,
doesn’t really care.
