MARKETING

There used to be
A fish market here
But they packed it up
Ghosts and all and
Moved it to the Bronx.
Now, very early
Muses buy and sell
Ideas for poems
My usual muse
(Quite old but sly)
Often leaves with
A small wrapped idea
And two or three others
Which somehow
Found themselves
In her purse's
Deepest depths. 

ON LINE

 

On the long line for admission

To Hell stands a child. It's hard

To imagine why she's there 

But there she is, fidgeting,

Holding the memory of a toy

That was blown up with her 

One damned soul makes faces 

To amuse her. Another starts 

A long story about an elephant 

And a lizard and a flying boat.

It's a very long line and, really,

What else have we to do?

VETERANS

 

Some saints spend so long in the field that at last

They're worn down, almost featureless, like spoons

With unreadable monograms and twisting handles

Which might be anything -- writhing Cupids, sleepy mermaids,

Apostles, even. Their attributes are lost or mere blobs,

Their miracles pointless, giving a duck, say, the power

To heal shattered bones and twisted hearts

Or making puddles rain themselves back into the sky.

A COUSIN

During the War my mother's cousin Simon
Was a solider and wrote brave letters
Sometimes and funny ones other times
He'd type an original and six carbons
Sending my mother carbon four.
When he was in college he lived
In my grandparents' house and Joe
My grandfather gave him a dime
Every morning for carfare. Most mornings
Si walked so he could spend the dime
On cigarettes and coffee. He came home
With a whole heart but three years later
It broke and then his spirit went flat
And he smoked cheap tobacco in a pipe.
When I found his war letters I wondered
What had happened to make him
Scared of everything. My mother thought
It was a girl named Gretchen or perhaps
Just bad luck of which Simon always had
Enough and more than enough.

MESSAGES

 

The old amulet says

"Demon! If you are hungry

Eat. If you are thirsty

Drink. If you aren't hungry

Or thirsty: Go away!"

What, though, if the demon

Just wants a few minutes

To tell you what it's like

Being an itinerant demon  

Or to ask if you'd consider

Walking with him

Just to the next town?

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD, PART TWO

 

My father, I ask you to look out for

A small girl, recently dead. No kin

Of ours but, out of your kindness,

Help her; she'll be so confused

That grownups took the trouble

To kill a five year old.

While you lived you could never

Ignore a child's distress; even Death,

I think, couldn't  change that in you.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD

 

A young child, a girl, dead,

Asks why I'm writing a poem

When I should be bringing her back.

Young children do not know

That anything's impossible. There will

Be ducks on the pond that she

Won't ever see. The honking geese

Won't startle or amuse her; won't 

Make her clutch small hands together

And say Oh! No cricket will bring her

Good fortune; no grandchild 

Ask her why cats don't have kings.