Monthly Archives: April 2013

Nocturne

The rain on the window penetrates the silence
Invading my aimless train of thought
Giggles are heard over the rhythmic patter
The aimless conversation harmonizes
With the lilting gale and child-like laughter

The blue light from the television
Reminds me of a squarish moon
Again the giggles erupt – a happy sound
Laughter and lightning illuminate the room
For just a moment and are as quickly gone

The Old Penguin on Memorial Day Weekend

The rain was not that aggressive – but the old penguin held the umbrella with conviction
Summer was coming fast but not soon enough for a nine-year old boy
This old penguin had one wild hair jutting out of the small flesh knot on her upper lip
She was sadder than I had ever seen adult – she always seemed sad
Didn’t anyone ever tell her that penguins are supposed to be happy?
They’re married to Jesus and that is better than being married to Mr. Geinowski.
Mr. Geinowski is a butcher so being married to him has to be pretty good
But I don’t think it would be as good as being married to Jesus
Even if you have to share him with the other penguins
I just wanted to see her smile once before I left for the long weekend
Even if only to see that wild hair wave in the breeze

Whatever belongs to you

Whatever belongs to you
You can take it
The shampoo in the bathroom on the ledge
You can take it
The art supplies untouched in the basement
You can take them
The shards of my heart broken like a window
You can take them too
I only ask that you leave one thing
I only ask that you leave the remnants of a life I had
Before you came along

I have given you all and everything
But that was not enough
So all I am asking you
Is give me back what belonged to me
Before you came into my life
You can have all the rest

I Was Remembering Again

I was remembering a night
In the ratty moldy $80-a-month apartment
The Zenith stereo-light to guide us
The texture of the ancient hide-a-bed
Scratched your perfect skin
Red patches rising on your elbows and thighs
Your damp breath feeding me – intoxicating me
I pulled the straps of your overalls
Just past your shoulders
Inching up that vibrant orange shirt
The purity of your skin against my dark hands
Made me tremble
You lost your delicate fingers
In the hair on my chest and stomach
The record album came to an end
The needle lifted off and slipped back into the holder
You kissed me again – deeper – wetter
I had to stop – sit up smoke a cigarette
Sitting on that couch – your hand on my back
The smoke trailing up into the cobwebs
I was the king – that night I was the king

I Was Remembering

I was remembering the night on the old mattress
Black light Jimi Hendrix stapled to the ceiling
Our pants were around our ankles shirts around our necks
Elvis playing on an 8-track player hidden under the blanket
Your breath was sweet and moist from the wine
Your hands were urgent but they weren’t very experienced
The strength of 10 horses held my heart inside my chest
Your skin was like cream–smooth and flawless
My hands were rough
I was afraid that my calluses would scrape away the finish
But I couldn’t stop at that point
You did though, you sat up and reached for a Salem
I let my shoes hit the floor
Before I began searching for my lighter and the 8-track player
A figure appeared in the doorway
But it disappeared just as quickly
I put a fresh Elvis tape in the player
The smoke from our cigarettes crept out the window
When you pulled your sweater over your head
You messed up your hair but you looked even better
I stopped for a minute to look at you sitting there
I remember falling back into your arms
Elvis filled the room again
And for just that moment I was him
He was me and with you
And ever star in your view
Belonged to me that night

This is Not Glenn, Michigan

This is not Glenn, Michigan
But I am trying to recover the words
The words that we dropped into the water
On that late summer misdirected trip
Where all the girls wanted one dance
With the traveling wordman – the beer fan
But those girls disappeared into the night
Hiding in the dark between dances
And the words – for what they’re worth to me now
Have slipped away like the good German beer that
made this trip worthwhile
And the kid – the poet – the martyr to his own self-destruction
He found us a hotel room at the crack of dawn – hammered
He found us a place to crash – to hide from the unforgiving night
While I inhaled a river of the good German beer
Throwing the bottles out the window
To crash along the Blue Star Highway
I smoked one cigarette after another and cracked bad jokes
Come winter now and I miss the bubble machine
God – I miss Glenn Michigan
For all of the uselessness of wishes – mine is that I were there tonight
With the nameless sweaty girl who hid in the darkness
After every frantic dance surrounded by empty beer bottles
And I want to find the place where we finally let the words go
The place where the dark hairy men in the tiny bathing suits
Snapped our picture standing in the lake
There on the shoreline that recalled my childhood

August 2000
We never found our way.

That October Afternoon

Who was watching that October afternoon?
While my mind was being swatted back and forth
The rackets sending it over the little net
The rat-tail corner of an American flag
Smacked me hard across the face
But the irony is totally lost to me
The greasy Elvis impersonator sipping whiskey
Right there in front of me and everyone
The sweet young innocent teasers
Flipping up their little skirts
Offering quick flashes of their little asses
Untouched at twenty years and counting

What am I doing here anyway?
I should be mending fences at least
Maybe making diamonds out of coal
This is not the time or the place
To think the things that I am thinking
All I can do for the rest of the afternoon
Is hide behind my sunglasses
And crawl inside of my walkman
And hope that no one notices me
And if my mind hits the ground
I will scramble to pick it up
Before the games begin again