Hello all, I'd love some feedback (positive and negative) on some new poems. My brain still feels a little rusty and tired, but these are some beginnings.
for Jeff Kresge
Get me a hammer to knock
out these two loose teeth.
Took us three hours to shovel
the snow from the pond. I want
to play. Dougie’s stick smashed
my mouth into pulp of bloody teeth.
I missed only one line
shift, drowning the pain
with two Blues and cotton balls
stuffed into the cavities.
The Cup’s stories are not always
suitable for the youngsters,
as the gleaming silver has been left
in a brothel, for example, lost,
plunged to the depths of a pool.
That damn Cup, misspellings
and all, will someday stand
in Buffalo so I can die
happy, and my mother
can put away the photo
of the illegal goal in 1999, the photo
that shocks her awake every morning
like no coffee shot every could.
It’s different here in Buffalo, where boys
still slap sticks on frozen ponds,
the frozen Canadian wind blowing
hard and cold, and those boys
just skate faster.
Earthy tangs of brown green
and yellow inspire
rooftops of strawberries
to grow in barrels.
Get your hands dirty
to hold off the rain
of darkness out there
into compost and peat.
All six growing stations
connect to your enemies:
wind and evaporation,
so let’s see what happens
in the back yard of yours,
when senses delight
in sun, water, soil.
You’re Really Nice, But
Under the tan brick façade,
maybe I am bitter. The recessed
has a front tooth gap filled
with colored crepe paper.
The large banana hook
in the corner is broken
and tarantulas might still
lurk in that part of the store.
The candy case stayed
even filled with trays of licorice
and jars of bright colors
too bitter to eat.
And the candy sometimes
came with a spoon, for the fairy
food that melted in my
girl sits on
makes new lists.
She holds white
chalk to write
her name Kate,
draws light blue
Oh, that was cool.
No, but I’m going tonight.
Soft sneakers scratch sidewalks
and flip flops pop stick. The car
engine purrs. Go! shouts one
stomping along the sidewalk
after sticky brakes slow
at the corner.
Soft laughter from the next
table, from behind, from above.
Mom! His pencil scratches.
That’s there, mom. I don’t care.
Do you want anything to drink?
But it’s all tangy and nasty
and there’s the loud thud of full
plastic cup in the garbage.
Okay, bye, I’ll call you. Hello,
Dan! Who’s that? Oh man. Hi Ellen!
You look wonderful. They are in the same place
there. Slap, slide of flip flop sandpaper.
For the two weeks I’ll be at camp,
Absolutely not, no. But I’ll tell him.
I’m sure she’ll get a chuckle out of it.
Bass beat in the back of the truck.
That’s Sam, right there. I’m