Archive for February, 2009

Another Wave

I know I’m a broken record but
I miss the days when



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Antiques Road Show

(guest post by anonymous guest author – I’m going to say this was written in three minutes, judging from the space between instant messages)

i found you.
i saw you, gazed
your glaze.

discarded container of blissful liquids
cracked and broken, forgotten dreams.
your value, to me, immeasurable
your value to her, in the garage,

two dollars.

We journeyed!
Far! to the roadshow
stood in line, clutched in my arms.

I have sold you and bought a car.

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It Craps Itself?

(by request – I want a poem about how baby showers and babies and siblings with lots of babies just make your uterus want to curl up in the corner and weep softly, shivering.  And there’s no clock ticking.  And people keep looking at you while you hold the baby and wondering why you don’t look sincere when you emphatically agree that babies smell more lovely than anything.  And it’s not that you don’t like kids and don’t want kids.  You just aren’t ready to stop being a kid, and that’s ok.  Maybe some people aren’t in the mood for life’s little miracle and you can hold your own baby and I’ll just look at it from here and sip my wine.  Something that captures that general essence.)

The silence descends on all souls in the room
A stillness that comes, as it seems, from the tomb
And all eyes are on me, they glare through the gloom
At my unsympathetic and unprepared womb.

I’m holding her baby, its face has gone red.
“Don’t you think he smells like an angel?” she said.
I answered, “If ‘angel’ means ‘poop.'” in my head.
And I wished I could go grab a cocktail instead.

And now they’re transfixed in an unpleasant stare,
Because I was slow to remark on his hair
And when asked if I knew any babe half as fair
I looked at the imp and replied “I don’t care.”


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Molecular Biology

(by request, kind of: “molecular biology, or how when you finally finish something sometimes you don’t even care about it anymore.” Also, she’s not in Duluth, but it flows so well!)

A friend of mine from my youth
Is studying hard in Duluth
I picture her in a white lab coat
With beakers and test tubes of truth.

I’ve liked seeing her in this light:
A scientist fighting for right
But I gotta admit I like better
When she’s hanging with me every night.


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Maybe She Wasn’t Listening

A guy
Sat down next to my boss
And asked me to be
On a committee.

I was trapped in a midnight alley
Alone but for the rats
Damp walls on three sides
And him
On the other

He grinned at me from under his fedora.
He opened his trench coat to show me his tommy gun.
“No one is coming to save you,” he said.

Then I leapt up some trash cans
And over a wall
And booked it down the wet Chicago street
Shouting something clever as he howled with rage.

OR I looked at my boss
Looked at the ground
And said “Sure, count me in.”

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“What’s that you’re reading?”
“Hey, look, we’re on break!”
“You’re supPOSED to be working!”
His outrage was fake.
But my arteries dilated
Swollen with rage
And I tried really hard
To look back to the page,
But he shrugged and he smirked
With a tolerant laugh,
So I threw back my cloak
And I brandished my staff.
“Get back, conference demon!”
I pointed his way.
“You’ve got nothing, got nothing,
Nothing to say.”

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