~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Everything That Rises

I drove past the house
I once knew well
the street unrecognizable
trees taller with thicker branches
yet common
the house box-like
surrounded by similar boxes
on either side
from the alley I saw things I forgot
second-story bedroom window
of a room I slept in
a back yard where a dog was buried
and where mom put a birdbath
dad planted a crabapple tree
with apples you couldn’t eat
a garage where I lifted barbells in summer
and swatted at wasps coming out of
a nest in the eaves
in that bedroom upstairs was a wall
I punched a hole in
and hid with a map of
Algonquin Provincial Park
We had metal garbage cans then
one of them a wire skeleton
where you could burn papers
in winter it was fun to set fire
to big bunches of newspapers
when your snot froze and
your fingers tingled
watching the flames go up and up
towards the stars looking back
I never had anything to compare this to
until now, but
having lived in a hundred boxes
and swatted a thousand wasps
having eaten a million apples
none of this was special
none of it was better or worse
than anything else
but one thing stands out
thinking of the fire in our
dark alley behind my garage
how it spread its heat into
my un-gloved hands
to the lining inside my coat
reaching skyward
wandering off into the unknown
taking my breath with it
visible in the cold
drags of oxygen drawn from my lungs

In The Room Next Door

At a funeral I was at
for a civil engineer, like me
a poem was read
about death being nothing at all
not something that separates us
liking it to just going to a room nearby
and waiting for your friends
to join you
I liked the imagery
and the notion
that nothing can tear apart
a true friendship
and imagined being in that other room
waiting,
waiting
and then noticing that
here, alone in eternity
there are no clocks
and no one in that room I just left
really liked me that much, either
and, without realizing it
the poem left me feeling
comforted
knowing that although eternity
was going to be shitty
it wasn’t shittier than this funeral
there was just going to be
a lot more of it
and then another thought cheered me
instead of waiting
I could go to the other rooms of eternity
and see who’s there
possibly finding a soulmate
to spin yarns with
and kill some time
and then, because of my knowledge
of the Scientific Method
I learned at the Technological Institute
I went into the salon next door where
there was another funeral
and although no poem was read
there was this dead person
in the open coffin
so I went and had a look
stared at him a bit
committed his face to memory
and then listened to the passage
which was all about God
and Exodus 33
where He says no one can see His face
and live
and putting two and two together
I thought maybe the deceased saw God’s face
and it killed him
I discarded that thought
and instead reasoned that I should get to know
as many faces as possible
right here
so that maybe
when one of them walked in
that empty room of mine
in the next world
we could comfort each other
when we finally saw His face
so I introduced myself to this guy’s widow
and stared at her
who knows?
maybe she would be the one who wanders
into that far off white room
mixing up me for him
my room for his
and she said
‘You’re in the wrong parlor
funerals for engineers are held in Room ‘B’
you’re in A
Harold was a dentist
maxillofacial & corrective jaw surgery
rhinoplasty and oculoplastics’
so I was wrong about death
it separates us
me in my room
Harold in his with
that glorious, corrected smile

Why Freight Trains Are So Long

There are theories, of course
all of them wrong
one says that freight trains simply
like blocking street traffic
so they make themselves
as long as they can
as much as the locomotive can tolerate
then slow down at certain grade crossings
71st and Western
Harlem and Grand come to mind
but that’s wrong
although snickering can be heard at times
another unproven claim is that
boxcars
longwinded and rambling
like to congregate in large numbers
to swap stories of the hobos
that have hitched rides in them
again, a falsehood
and there are fewer boxcars now than before
the real reason is
are you ready for this?
freight trains are wanderers by nature
go anywhere
you’ll find them
they are gypsies, nomads, hobos themselves
not just wandering
from Oshkosh to Missoula
but searching in their travels
for words
so they can say something big
about all they know
and how it all now makes sense
each time they come up empty
at the depot
they think maybe next time
if they just had a few more freight cars
to add to their overall wisdom
they could say something important
that would make themselves look good
but it hasn’t worked
no matter how many
cattle cars, gondolas, tank cars
center-splines and hopper cars
they tack on to their consist
no matter how many people
get added to
Congress, the committee, the congregation
it doesn’t help
in fact it gets worse
but we still keep trying
so they brace for the outburst
of hoots, howls & catcalls
from the other component
of their world
the passenger train
as her Hiawatha passes
at one hundred miles an hour
snickering
and so does her Zephyr