In Caging Time
A walk to the laundromat, to
the mom-and-pop-everything
store, the sweet-savory bakery
and 7-Eleven’s potato chip aisle,
its Lotto stand and the chasing
glossy rack.
That’s how life begins for the
newcomer searching for sure
passage and identity among
giants, among working hands
daily-forged behind the dream
in some eventual great debt
to the city.
I did not possess a heart strong
enough or fingers sew-nimble
enough to weave life through
dream cages with my too-frugal
means, though I learned how
to park small with no scarcity
of wonder.
Elegy to Self
dear self,
so sorry to see you go
as sheep and scrabbled swine
during the in-between hours
of thursday’s and friday’s fine
cackling and crowing about,
after the too-long work drip
stamina slough and grind.
you know how you’ve
been, good-looking oyster rout
and warm meal for a raging
muck-it-all festival and sneak
peek. death comes on the
breeze or it may swoop down
in a tempest freeze to cut you
off at the knees. and then
what? then what, guy?
you will be a jack of
all trades plus one, and still
a master of none. ahem, i’ll
take a rueben sandwich, please,
but hold the bread and cheese.
so sorry to see you suffer like
that. yea, sorry to see you go
to your dancing classes
revolutionized by your ante-
cedents, and there is a name
for all of it, there is a name
that should have come as no
surprise to you at all, and it’s
the demagoguery of your
wrongs, which you hold in
a laundry bag at your side,
while you wait for the train
to come whisk you off from
this bastard station.
