Could Be
I was scratching her thighs
with my beard.
We were pretending
we were married.
She'd burned the roast
& forgotten to thaw
the pie.
Some white guy
on the radio
was crooning a Jesus tune.
The dog curled on the stoop
without a sound.
The kids had grown
& gone to college
or other nameless towns.
The house was ours
& interest rates had dropped.
We searched for a better ending.
We were bored & old & fat.
One night she said:
"I've got it!"
Suddenly,
we were both hit
by a truck.
(from the chap Could Be/The Mad Dog Press/Bill Shields, Ed.)
In Here
Jack-off
wipe your ass
make yourself a sandwich,
it's a busy, busy world
in which we live.
Your wife is screaming
in the yard,
your dog has run away,
the basement's full of cops
you hear them laughing.
Marijuana's scarce as love,
the TV's your best friend,
your stomach sours & sags
you smell the grave.
So suck beer
get drunk
eat another Xanax,
so many, many things to do,
such busy, busy days.
(from the chap Send Flowers/Shy City Press/Lisa Yeager,Ed)
The Place of Broken Arrows
(for Neil Young)
A ruby cowgirl
cries alone
in an empty bar.
Outside
electric hurricane winds
powder
a bruised desert sky.
You're at home
in this thrashed landscape,
where love
breaks more than hearts.
You know
nothing's ever over.
Don't let it
bring you down.
(from the chap The Place of Broken Arrows/kali momma press/CA Conrad,Ed)
Postcard To Ron Androla
I served jury duty today.
The assistant DA
tried to rape my thoughts.
I was strong
& kept all secrets.
Please don't be concerned:
I never once mentioned
your name.
(from the chap Ten Poems/non compos mentis press/Mark Hartenbach, Ed)
