SELF-KNOWLEDGE

 

Old man always knew he could

Turn into a coyote. Never saw

Much point in it.

SITUATION

 

God and I find ourselves at the top of

A very tall tree which is surrounded by

Hungry wolves or perhaps coyotes or, for all I

Can see from up here, tanuki or just possibly

Wombats. God, with His excellent

Eyesight probably knows what they

Are but I refuse to give Him the

Satisfaction of telling me.  Finally I

Say “What should we do?" and He says “I've 

Been kindof hoping you'd have an idea”

NOT AN AUBADE

Cold day. Old man
Walking. Wind decides
To knock him down.

PRUDENCE

Old man, knowing his name may
Run off and not come back, keeps
A drawer full  of aliases

KEKORO

 

Not an oiran nor a tayu nor even 

The lowest grade of geisha 

Just a kekoro standing in a boat

Wearily beating a small drum

To announce she can be rented

For a very small price. Katsukawa Shunsho

Made a quick sketch of her; she's in

The background of a few prints 

And once appears as the main subject.

She turned up here six months ago

Saying  "The Agency said 

You might have some work for me."

She's not survived the final cut

In any poem but has worked enough

To have an ID and is entitled to eat

In the commissary. 

                     What? Of course there's

A commissary for my regular crew

Where soup is always available.

Do anything long enough involving

Irregular workers and one day there is

A commissary where those with IDs

Are entitled to eat soup twice a day

Some days' soup is better than others

But soup is still soup except on Thursdays

When it's stew. (The actors I can afford

For my poems mostly look like 

Free soup is welcome.) There are rumors

Of an executive dining room but

I've never been asked to eat there.

534

Dawn at the docks
Ghosts unloading boats
Other ghosts setting out

RUBBER STAMPS

 

I imagine God deals

Quickly with most prayers

He has stamps

"Answer clearly"

"Answer obscurely"

"Answer ironically"

"Refer to Satan"

"Ignore." He prefers

Those needing

No action from Him

Being simple reports

"Dear God, it's cold"

"Dear God, it's late"

"Dear God I'm tired"

"Dear God I never wanted this."

SPIDERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD

 

If Jonathan Edwards 

Was God, He'd spend

Day after day burning

Spiders. Read, if

You can't avoid it,

Sinners in the Hands

Of an Angry God;

His hatred towards

Arachnids is

Disturbingly clear.

DISSATISFIED

 

The poem looks at the words I’ve given it and says

“Tailor’s grandson it will have to do; there's no time 

To start afresh. Do what you can about the drape of it;

Perhaps where you have that bit of muddy green

In line five, another color? A bit of something 

Blood red might just pull the look together.”

LOST

 

My Destined Death has no sense

Of direction and anyway cannot drive so

Though I know he's doing his best to

Reach me I occasionally get calls from 

Him asking -- as if I'd know! -- things like why

He's in a mall near Topeka and can I suggest 

Some way he might make a few dollars there since

Even Tools of Destiny need to eat now and then.

THE TOWN FORMERLY KNOWN AS

 

The town where my grandfather Max grew up

Was, after the bombs, the fires and the exterminations,

Allowed to have a sort of life on condition

That it take an assumed name and change

The street names too. (The river is still permitted

To go on calling itself The Bug but must

Report to the authorities every two months.)

It is not an easy place to live. Street signs

Daren't use the old names but fade to illegibility

Within days of being put up. Occasionally

A pile of rubble will insist it's still a building

And start accepting tenants. Ghosts in these times

Flood in from places where things are even worse.

The odds are that you cannot travel to this town now

But if your dreams bring you there take a moment

To give my regards to the ghost of my Great Aunt Irina

At 6 Zebro Stolowe Street, Apartment C.

If she's in a good mood she'll play you something

On the memory of her violin. (According to her sister

Irina had an uncertain temper and a rough tongue

But her music made her welcome everywhere.)