Sunday, May 30, 2010

Concession Speech

Don't stand on me, you ass. That really hurts.
I don't remember giving you the eye
Or spitting at your head when you walked by,
Or kicking you, or grabbing at your skirts —
All right, your pants. Where do you buy those shirts,
The Stupid Store? In fact, I'm pretty shy,
I'm just reluctant to tell you a lie,
And honestly, friend — cut down on desserts.

Maybe I shouldn't have called you a blimp,
Or added that your wife looks like a sow
With three chins, bad skin, and a unibrow,
But think — I never said you were a pimp,
Or hit you, or made jokes about your limp.
Okay, you win, gumhead. Get off me now.

Thursday, May 20, 2010


I fell somewhere between the isotherms,
Cold, hot, and tepid, alternating fast,
Pulsing between the present and the past,
Pretending to be pals with pachyderms,
Fire, courage, carnage, carriage wheels, and worms,
Reflecting how the first became the last,
The swift became the slow, and the half-assed
Became the mascot of six legal firms.

It's all symbolic, a sad metaphor
That represents demented similes
As disparate and desperate as fleas
In soapy water, as inapt as war
Among the poppets sitting on the floor,
As sure as Satan's heart in the deep freeze.

Saturday, May 15, 2010


I felt a spark. I didn't feel a spark.
You rescued me, abandoned me, ignored
And watched me closely, raised me, left me floored,
Kept me at home, amused me in the park,
And had me feeling rather like the shark:
Valued and feared. A great concerto scored
For ninety instruments, a fruit tea poured
For one, I am — where are we? In the dark.

You did an attitude: leg back, arms wide
To meet me with a delicate embrace,
Your true affection showing on your face,
Your secret longings set off to one side.
The open heart, the intellect you hide —
It's fire. Or something sweet, in any case.

Friday, May 07, 2010

Poem for Gert and Bert

It may be that I seemed unduly curt,
But almost all of my damp soul was hurting,
And the way you stood there grinning, blurting
"King of kings!" and "Bird thou never wert!"
Romantic? No, I thought you merely pert,
Without a conscience, carelessly asserting
Your superiority, diverting
Our attention — I had been inert.

I told you I thought you were being flirty;
Swinging round your body was a skirt
That flared. I said, "I'm living in a yurt,"
And you declared that I was being shirty,
Using tactics that were mean and dirty.
Maybe so. We both became alert.