APRIL IN PARIS
I cry uncle in a hotel lobby.
Call you long distance &
Cry uncle again. Night clerk
Laughs when asked about the
Cold & hands me a blanket.
Heat turned off for spring &
Go suck an egg, I think she says.
Sucez un oeuf...stupid American.
No phone or heat in the room,
Only pigeons outside & they could
Care less. Cry uncle to the pigeons
& think of my uncle dead & buried.
To what relation did he cry for
In South Pacific jungles? Malaria-
Chilled & dysentery-cramped,
Of course he cried. Through
Fog of hot shower steam I watch
Bad euro television. French hip-hop
& dubbed Hollywood blow-up movies
Turn me into an uncle crying pigeon
& sucking an egg. Wrapped in
swaddling clothes & feeling like
A stranger because there is
No room for me at the end.
MANY KINDS OF DROUGHT
Cry the rain down, sweet sister.
It's been far too long without
& these fields have fissured & cracked.
Cry it down, the way you flashflooded
Those sweetgums along Little Bear Creek,
The way your tropically hot tears
Jumped the banks & grand-paraded
Into town all biblical-like. Cry it down,
The way your ghostly sobbing
Thundered housecats under dirty-
Sheeted beds, your eyes striking
Lightning bolts, popping cross-town
Transformers. Cry for your lost days
& that stray dog that stayed, even after
You clapped dollarstore sandals together
& threw pebbles at it. Then cry for my
Disbelief & fondness for the whiskey,
Which will surely take me before you.
But most of all, cry for that pinedarkened
Empty hallway at our family home,
& the way the hardwood floor creaks
On cold mornings, the oak slats trying
To speak truth to all those school pictures,
My child-eyes closed in each one.
NOCTURNE COMPOSED IN BACKYARD, DRUNK
You would be the freshly-ploughed field sleeping
In a sunrise fog. I, a stray dog skulking, sniffing out
Cat carcasses along an unlit highway. The mockingbird
Trilling at 2 a.m.? The tulip tree with its beard of bees?
In each of these, you come to mind. You are the cloud
Shaped like you; the unexpected snowfall; the letter
From home - coffee-stained, jasmine-scented. You are
The undiscovered galaxy hiding behind that quasar
In our hallway & I am dark matter just outside your orbit,
Pulling you down to our filthy couch for some late night
Slap & tickle. You are the victory yell; the meditation bell;
A hymn I hum in the shower; the book I cannot put down.
CRAZED MAN CHANGES WEATHER
For David Wojahn
Elvis Aaron Presley, born Tupelo, Mississippi
January 8th, 1935, once used yogi mind-power
To move a single small cirrus cloud backwards
Above the death-bleak Nevada desert & for this
Was placed in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
Just weeks before his untimely explosion
Atop a Memphis, Tennessee toilet & I figure
If this poor boy's deep-fried grey matter
Could command such meteorological magic
Then what of my own humdrum, caffeine
In the morning, scotch whisky in the evening
Early to bed, Leave it to Beaver brain?
So, on an unusually warm midwinter day
With a fast approaching cold front to the north,
I stand, arms stretched out & up, in my street,
Straining like the old Hound Dog himself,
Quietly humming Return to Sender, Teddy Bear,
Love Me Tender & Suspicious Minds,
When lo & behold, the blue sky freezes
Into a full-color photocopy of itself & as
Thousands of red-winged blackbirds rain down
I can only wish our God, our King, was still alive
To looketh upon me, verily, & tremble.
I cry uncle in a hotel lobby.
Call you long distance &
Cry uncle again. Night clerk
Laughs when asked about the
Cold & hands me a blanket.
Heat turned off for spring &
Go suck an egg, I think she says.
Sucez un oeuf...stupid American.
No phone or heat in the room,
Only pigeons outside & they could
Care less. Cry uncle to the pigeons
& think of my uncle dead & buried.
To what relation did he cry for
In South Pacific jungles? Malaria-
Chilled & dysentery-cramped,
Of course he cried. Through
Fog of hot shower steam I watch
Bad euro television. French hip-hop
& dubbed Hollywood blow-up movies
Turn me into an uncle crying pigeon
& sucking an egg. Wrapped in
swaddling clothes & feeling like
A stranger because there is
No room for me at the end.
MANY KINDS OF DROUGHT
Cry the rain down, sweet sister.
It's been far too long without
& these fields have fissured & cracked.
Cry it down, the way you flashflooded
Those sweetgums along Little Bear Creek,
The way your tropically hot tears
Jumped the banks & grand-paraded
Into town all biblical-like. Cry it down,
The way your ghostly sobbing
Thundered housecats under dirty-
Sheeted beds, your eyes striking
Lightning bolts, popping cross-town
Transformers. Cry for your lost days
& that stray dog that stayed, even after
You clapped dollarstore sandals together
& threw pebbles at it. Then cry for my
Disbelief & fondness for the whiskey,
Which will surely take me before you.
But most of all, cry for that pinedarkened
Empty hallway at our family home,
& the way the hardwood floor creaks
On cold mornings, the oak slats trying
To speak truth to all those school pictures,
My child-eyes closed in each one.
NOCTURNE COMPOSED IN BACKYARD, DRUNK
You would be the freshly-ploughed field sleeping
In a sunrise fog. I, a stray dog skulking, sniffing out
Cat carcasses along an unlit highway. The mockingbird
Trilling at 2 a.m.? The tulip tree with its beard of bees?
In each of these, you come to mind. You are the cloud
Shaped like you; the unexpected snowfall; the letter
From home - coffee-stained, jasmine-scented. You are
The undiscovered galaxy hiding behind that quasar
In our hallway & I am dark matter just outside your orbit,
Pulling you down to our filthy couch for some late night
Slap & tickle. You are the victory yell; the meditation bell;
A hymn I hum in the shower; the book I cannot put down.
CRAZED MAN CHANGES WEATHER
For David Wojahn
Elvis Aaron Presley, born Tupelo, Mississippi
January 8th, 1935, once used yogi mind-power
To move a single small cirrus cloud backwards
Above the death-bleak Nevada desert & for this
Was placed in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
Just weeks before his untimely explosion
Atop a Memphis, Tennessee toilet & I figure
If this poor boy's deep-fried grey matter
Could command such meteorological magic
Then what of my own humdrum, caffeine
In the morning, scotch whisky in the evening
Early to bed, Leave it to Beaver brain?
So, on an unusually warm midwinter day
With a fast approaching cold front to the north,
I stand, arms stretched out & up, in my street,
Straining like the old Hound Dog himself,
Quietly humming Return to Sender, Teddy Bear,
Love Me Tender & Suspicious Minds,
When lo & behold, the blue sky freezes
Into a full-color photocopy of itself & as
Thousands of red-winged blackbirds rain down
I can only wish our God, our King, was still alive
To looketh upon me, verily, & tremble.
