I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes
At the dentist
Thy hygienist told me a story
About a man who while being divorced
Two weeks after he came in here
Carbon monoixeded himself in his garage.
She holds two sharp metal objects in her hand.
Alice, everyone around here thinks this is normal.
They search you
Or any name you know
For free, paid for by seeing eyeing ads
Databases, and records, clerks, counties,
Marriages, arrests, lives, friends, associates,
All right there to be found.
If I want to be unfound,
If I needed to go or leave.
I’d still be there records recorded and playing.
I pretend, I do,
Someone will look over my life days
All I’ve done with a fine tooth comb
So I have to must, gotta, behave.
I’ve traded servers and data logs
For the omnipresent eyes my father taught me
Saw all around.
She tells me after I haven’t brought a boy home to meet.
I’ve not met anyone who could stand up
Still like me, and still be likeable.
I couldn’t show you my red-hearted lover, Mom.
He joked about women voting.
I couldn’t pass with John, with the stutter.
The skin color and teeth I think would have been a problem.
The other one too poor and peppy for your tastes.
And the hipster boy who would say he wasn’t smarter
Than he was to sound better than he’d ever be,
Dad would have torn him to shreds.
Even if Mom had been nice, liked everybody,
I’d be hearing about it for years,
Like when I got my leg stuck in the chair
And the piece of wood had to be sawed off.
This poor rich stranger
Stays with us
Nowhere else to go
Couldn’t stay with the girl
Family, host, on vacation.
So he’s in the twin bed
Above the desk, hitting his head,
He said, I really like your Dad.
I didn’t know what to say,
When someone compliments a parent.
He’s never seen him angry,
He doesn’t know all the disappointments
Or the rusty way he shaves.
I can take this for the family I suppose.
We, together, can be one fewer disappointment.
She colored the vodka and froze it
In layers because of the density
With the coloring.
But by four a.m. we drank dark dank purple slosh
She sang in her native song
And tore the door off the frame.
Culturally, she’s fine, her whole family
Just like, they all do that.
But to me, the cooking wine bottle, fridged for months,
This was an abomination.
I say no problem
Instead of nothing to forgive.
And I say nothing
When I should say I forgive you.
It shouldn’t matter if I say it.
But it does.
Trapped by what I can’t get myself to do
Just get something for the now
But I’ll get stuck more
Drawn in more than I have with my couch
That I can’t move without expense
That I can’t place without a job
That I won’t get here
But I can’t move,
Because moving costs too much.
She orders for him
What she thinks he wants
He sits right there.
I don’t think he can really read.
He builds and fixes with his hands.
But writes like electricity in wood
Scratched, hard, unreadable runes.
Ruined his brain with the war.
The old man’s talking point, now, war.
So she gets him a steak sandwich.