Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Nineteen, Poem Number Nineteen: “Junior”

To my unborn
and never will be born
Child
I’m not a good man,
I don’t do things right.
This is what keeps me up at night.

Had he been a boy,
here is what I would have said:
Always be responsible and fair.
Never lie, cheat or steal.
Behave in the opposite way that I do.
Love not only yourself but those around you.

Had she been a girl,
I would’ve spoiled her until she was rotten.
Daddy’s little girl surrounded by enough
stuff to keep her happy in her cage
because dating was never going happen.
All boys are dirty, just like your old man.

He would be in little league now
hitting home runs, wowing the crowd.

She would be winning the spelling bee
having no trouble with words like ‘illegitimacy.’

I pray that he doesn’t hold it against me
but that prayer is false
because it was for the best.
No matter how many sad words I write,
I gave him up without a fight

I pray that she won’t hate me
but my empty prayer will be heard by no one
because I don’t believe in God
and He doesn’t believe in me.
So what right do I have to plea?

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Eighteen, Poem Number Eighteen: “This Fix (is Hated)”

After he has chewed the scenery,
After he has sucked on a cigarette,
Out comes the gum.
Pop

Into his mouth it goes.
She’ll be there soon.
He awaits what comes next,
Kiss

Think back now,
Careful with those teeth
That’s not the way the teat likes to be treated
Suck

No, further back
He misses popsicles and lollipops and
Gum in the shape of cigarettes
Puff

No, back,
Mother’s milk, when sour
Cannot nourish the
Mouth

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Seventeen, Poem Number Seventeen: “Plagued”

You are a pervasive rash
that keeps me from sleeping properly,
Awakening me in fits of itch
until I rip my clothes, stitch by stitch.

My nails dig trenches into my thighs,
no amount of ointment or cream
can quell the firestorm raging under my skin.
You’ve turned my body against itself head to shin.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Sixteen, Poem Number Sixteen: “Twins”

You’re a wet cigarette
gone limp in the rain.
I’m a dud pack of matches
devoid of all flame.

You and I shall inherit this planet
since we are scared and meek.
When the strong kill each other with hatchets
we’ll hide in our holes for a week.

We’ll meet on the ground above,
as the last people left on the earth.
It’ll be impossible for us to fall in love
because we’re both afraid of getting hurt.

This is how the world ends
with two lonely people
who cannot be friends
or shelve their damaged egos.

The species will die off with a whimper and a sigh,
and I’ll stroke your hair, begging you not to cry.
I’m sorry I said those things about your weight
I was just upset you ate the last of the cornflakes.

You’re a wet cigarette
Gone limp in the rain
I’m a dud pack of matches
Devoid of all flame.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Fifteen, Poem Number Fifteen: “Remember When”

Remember when your confidence was low
and your boss tore you down
and I built you back up
and encouraged you to fight back?
No?

Remember when your friends deserted you
and the best one of all made you feel like dirt
and I held your hand throughout
and pressed you to be the bigger person?
No?

Remember when your parents shunned you
and ignored you after they kicked you out,
how I loved and nurtured you
and welcomed you into my own family because you were?
No?

Remember that one time when I hurt you
because I’m weak and selfish and full of doubt
and I couldn’t control myself although I knew better
and it was the worst goddamn mistake of my life?
Yes.

Of course you do.
And you’ll never forget it.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Fourteen, Poem Number Fourteen: “This Moment”

I’m only here for this moment.
Soon
others
will be clamoring for your attention.
But I can’t let myself wander
into future scenarios where I am excluded
and my existence isn’t considered.
I have you all to myself for this space of time
which could be measured by the numbers on your clock,
but for what purpose?
Later, in my dulled, damaged memories,
hours and minutes won’t matter.
Only the photo strip of still lives will remain and affect me.
I have you all to myself for this space of time
because I am all you have directly in front of you.
It is my good fortune
that you have switched to tunnel vision and
mine are the only approaching headlights you’re focused on.
I drive at a mild pace;
eager to reach you,
my destination,
but fully aware
of the danger
of rushing through an experience that
will in end in the ironic,
illuminating rays
of the rising sun.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Thirteen, Poem Number Thirteen: “Drowning”

Love is for the young
or the young of mind.
It is foolish, reckless,
it is responsible
for more than one crime.

As a young man, I dove in
to several pools’ deep ends.
The waters were warm,
Clear, and embracing.
I surfaced every time free of the bends.

Years expanded the blue.
I swam the deltas and rivers
that invaded my closed places.
Until I arrived to endless seas whose
cold depth made my heart shiver.

Sometimes I still jump without looking,
but the ocean beds are dusty and dry.
If there are always other fish in the sea,
then they’ve grown wings to fly.
All that’s left are brittle bones
that creak, groan and sigh.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Twelve, Poem Number Twelve: “Chameleon”

I’m not a great writer or a celebrated poet.
My truest title is chameleon and don’t I know it.
I mime and mimic the best from literature’s past,
restricted to the verbal fodder I’ve amassed.

My muted colors change more than
the foreign key rings on my night stand.
I imitate with the sincerest of flattery
because I am a flirt wooing all of history.

Genre, style, theme or form,
my pretty words are used to adorn
the lacquered, wooden frames that contain
original works of art, free of mental strain.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Eleven, Poem Number Eleven: “Jude, The Patron Saint, Falls In Love”

These are not Halcyon days and nights
for those wearing exposed hearts
stitched clumsily to their arms.
They should be afraid
or at least alert;
put up your guard!
I say.

The hospital volunteer in her vermilion stripes and exhibitionist skirt,
offers to help the ailing and hapless but even worse
our body’s defenses are low.
She infects this vulnerable man,
an unprotected soldier sans armor
caught in her barbed wire,
destitute.

Like a dentist, she comes in grinning, porcelain, smiling innocence
brandishing tools and clamps and other things that are good for my health.
And if I’m a good boy, here’s a sweet, except
my molars shatter every time
they bite down on your
hard candy,
doctor.

Another role, another face, she fills the shoes gracefully, a glass slipper
forms around her foot, molten glass never burning the skin.
Instead the clear membrane embraces it, thankful to have been chosen.
Until the day the scuffs and the dullness
become embarrassing
and she kicks it off
shattering it.

At last, a waitress comes around to deliver the check,
and the price is hefty, perhaps too high to pay.
She knocks over a bottle of wine yet
her charm is disarming so
I don’t mind the stain.
It all trickles down
to the bottom.

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Poem A Day, Poetry

Day Ten, Poem Number Ten: “Sobriety”

The love falls from her eyes,
The bottle rises to my lips,
She says I’m drunk on your lies.
From my mouth the problem drips,
drips,
drips.

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