Train up a child in the way he should go:
even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6
he wanted to give his child
things he never had
computers, i-phones, and more
one thing he never gave him
his own father gave
the best gift of all: himself
Walking up from Hay Creek
Before I leave the cool shade
of towering oaks, beech &
maple; of lesser hardwood trees,
I stop to cross the rusty strand
of barbwire fence.
The flowing spring where I will quince
my thirst flows through a pipe. I stand
over the clear water; bow on knees
& hands as though to pray &
unafraid,
I drink.
If you were with me,
all I would need to quiet my thirst
for love that endures like this spring
would be for you to drink with me.
Holding on to the memory
of love comes easily, a thing,
as poet, I transform into words, versed
across; down the page. You are within me,
but I am without you & thus I drink.
First, I thought we would be informed.
We were not.
Second, I thought pride would dictate good sense.
It did not.
Third, I thought samily would win out.
It has not.
Fourth, I hoped the trumpet would hit high notes.
Alas, the trumpet stayed sour.
Fifth, I turned to mainstream media for truth.
They seem as confused as the time itself.
Sixth, Fox harassed truth-tellers from their post.
Now are left sans brakes, edits or vision.
Seventh, CNN searched to find impeachable guilt.
Alas, it must be hidden in committee memos.
Eighth, four house elections later and we still sleep.
Now only Netflix and shopping awaits my eager click.
Hearing a fairy tale of the naked emperor, once childish
Folly today chills an empty, hornswoggled electorate.
From a long sixteen years of leader demeanor
We woke to insult, mania psycho tilt and tweet.
Rip slept for twenty, a solution adopted whereby
I hope to need but four. I will pray and say,
“Now I lay me” wake me to a humane republic
With recovered senses and restored good manners.
Is there one among us, who will reveal the naked
Truth, or will we all bow to this contagion of ennui?
This morning’s first waking,
the light easing through
whatever opening it finds
and the owl’s low question pulling
me from sleep. I don’t remember
my dreams anymore, not as I did,
enthralled by my own night
wisdom spiraling
from sleep’s deep spring. Now I wake
with worry, knowing what I know
is never enough. My mother
still knows me most of the time
and mostly that is enough—that she
knows me as I knew her
before words, as touch and safe
and the giver of food that I ease
between lips that open and close,
open and close. The strawberry moon
slips behind a cloud,
spilling its light as it goes.
Sometimes I forget
I was 5
when Ezra Pound died
that we shared the Universe
that he would have hated me.
In Berryman dreams, of
course, a farmer’s daughter
can see herself and
imagine she, too
is one of them.
If I lit a cigarette and
waved it around
I could pretend
Alexander Wollcott was directly
to my right, drinking gin.
Sexton scared me though
I would have pitied her
like many others
I felt kinship
like an ingrown kidneystone
The ancient bartenders were profoundly subtle.
We can only imagine their depth of understanding.
They were careful as someone talking
to a jealous husband’s wife.
Alert as a Democrat in Cracker Barrel.
Courteous as a needy man at closing time.
Fluid as ice melting in bourbon.
Shapable as a man with no opinion.
Receptive as a therapist.
Clear as a shot of silver tequila.
Do you have the patience to wait til you’re
out of the weeds and the bar empties?
Can you remain unmoving after hours
until the neglected woman is all cried out?
The master bartender doesn’t expect big tips.
He is present, and can welcome all types.
It Would Be Good
if all you have to suffer
came suddenly to you –
like a storm,
an earthquake,
love –
so you’d have no time
to embrace it,
much less
to ward it off.
Zlatna Kostova
She wanted to use my credit card
to buy an electronic notebook for
her daughter. Unable to afford the
device right then,or half the price of
the product rather—her ex had already
paid her for half—she was starting to feel
pressure from both to deliver on the
promise. I agreed to order it for her, she agreed
to reimburse me as soon as she got
her check. Days later my inquiry revealed
her intention, she thought we could “work
something out” where she’d pay me 50%
of the charge, then “do some jobs for me”
for the remainder. She assumed I’d accept
but instead declined, not compromising
financial sense/cents for sexual favors.
