Monday, November 16, 2009

Two video poems published at Shape of a Box--(those are really my feet)


Maybe it was the beer I had at 4:30,
the day before my appointment,
leading to…more beer,
bourbon with hot lemon and honey
(for my cold) then scotch
on the rocks, a favorite
nightcap for the drive home,
take it slow buddy….take it slow.

8 AM at the Office of Deeds
I’ll say anything to go home,
I’m a liberal with a wrongful arrest record,
I’m a social worker and I’m needed,
I know the victim today,
which case?
All of them.

I’m guilty.
They’ll all guilt today…
or innocent,
whichever comes quickest.


Her entire life flashes in front of my car,
in the dusty parking lot of the VFW,
when my Alva’s pocketbook spills out.
I edge my foot slightly off the break,
tempted to move it onto the gas,
like the stooped over the wheel
geriatric, today on Main Street,
who misplaced his pedals,
possibly for a hat,
rammed his Oldsmobile
into a coffee shop, in the middle
of a sun blinded afternoon.

But Alva, smoky, sloppy and boozy,
is not like the surprised customers,
whose mugs and saucers flew shattering
against the hard tiled floor, the sounds combined
with the screaming, and the screaming…yet,
no one died or will die today but it was close.
Alva cackles, “hold your horses, Timothy”
not once, but twice and I feel myself getting older
each and every second.
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