Poems May 2018

In a rocking chair at what is called The Summit. June, 1888:

The Commodore watched it all revolve
While he himself was perfectly still
Airplanes, and other gravity defying vehicles, vaulted through the sky
Children piloting their own rockets
Animals with enhanced intelligence operating heavy machinery
The thoughts of the masses instantly converted into pulses controlling the Aurora Borealis
The weather at the flick of a switch
The men of business setting out to conquer emerging markets
Retirees clustered in small groups that dwindled before the Commodore’s eyes
The leaders, in togas and expecting wine at any moment, hell bent on executing marketing plans, stood before the herd of babies and whispered that which can only be sized as a curse

Who are you?
There, behind the counter
Then
Coming around it to show the shoes

Where are you?
Now, transferred and moved
But
Never quite remembered or forgotten

During a movie - a junky movie,
You’re resurrected
Just for the flicker of a frame
And then hours later you’re still hanging on like a never drying towel
A half read paragraph
Or a blurry photograph

Or a daydream that can’t be LEGO assembled - too many parts gone. Too many days lost.

She walks heavily
Each step creaking the floor
And bouncing the plants

The ripples go out
No one notices
Perhaps no one lets on

Maybe she walks that way deliberately
A handfuls of pebbles tossed
Into the cosmic sea to make a wave on a shore

Somewhere it registers
In the bedroom of a teenager
Who looks up from texting

The shadow of the slats of the window
Imperceptibly move
And her heart reads the coded message

And daydreams about
Being in her 50’s and a miserable job
And a husband that’s in a box

She jumps on the bed
To a Janelle Monáe song
Rippling in reply:

“Cheer the fuck up.
Talk to yourself in gentle tones.
Spend to get”