From And Don’t Come Back, published in 2021.
Now it was now
the now at close range
the peel peeled away
the snakeskin shed
the paint stripped off
the seeds revealed
Turn the needles
to work the cast-on row of stitches.
Dip the spoon into the bowl.
Approach the dive. Break the egg.
Now it was now. Begin.
1/30/20
From The Immediate and No Sooner, published in 2021.
798.
Tray dropped on the floor.
The kitchen listens. Clatter.
Not shatter. Exhale.
1/23/20
799.
the concrete gray sky
the angle-paned glass sidewalk
ice storm and city
1/30/20
800.
Train at the platform
vibrates a low dark resolve
The passengers board
1/30/20
A couple of poems from this week. Some days I feel despair and other days I focus on my own world and try to make things right with it. That is what I am writing about this week, I guess.
What Happened
in the deep
red we skirt the blue
planet we’ve
just been told
things are too crazy there man
don’t stop not even
for lunch. So
we gas the beater
speed through pink
dust it’s not
radioactive is it
yes it is too bad
Mark this place
off our list and head
to the next
planet. What
a shame we’ve heard Earth was once
an outright showplace
shadorma chain
1/14/22
In Our Living Room
I remove the dust
from the end table
I use the lemon polish
and the soft pink rag
and
Like the cat
who delights in the
biting twisting pulling
snap
and there he examines
his claws-extended paw
I lose myself
in the task
1/14/22
From the book And Don’t Come Back, published in 2021.
Fresh pressed and sparkling clean
off to work those patterned pants and
knee boots a nice look with the
white wool turtleneck sweater
ten hours from now you and they
tired out from being at work all day
run into the grocery store
to pick up something for dinner.
You yawn in the checkout line
sag
and relax
into their wrinkles.
1/23/20
From the collection published in 2021, The Immediate and No Sooner.
795.
blue chalk eyeshadow
on the smiling yellow face
scrawled on the sidewalk
1/23/20
796.
these seven letters
my name painstakingly drawn
in my first-grade hand
1/23/20
797.
tornado season
in the middle of the night
the house cut in two
1/23/20
From the book published in 2021, And Don’t Look Back.
Knock at the door
ma’am we need to reinforce
the telephone pole in your back yard
well of course
knock yourself out
Two men lug a cable
unwind it from their truck
What’s this, a shot of vigor for more of the
Hi Lou What are you doing and
Jerry I thought you said ten o’clock Where are you and
Leslie, it’s me don’t touch the fuse box until I get home
I thought they meant
prop up the pole
not top up the wiring
anyway I forgot all about it
next thing I knew
the truck was gone and the
Reinforced silent wooden pole
looking back at me
keeping its secrets.
All of them.
1/23/20
This week in Little Vines world.
5511.
Tuesday at the dinner table, Dad says
I think your guilty party is
the red fingernail polish she always wears
We all turn to look at Mom’s fingers. She blushes.
5512.
the cloud
it always regains its shape
but it’s not always one that you have already seen
5513.
The self-assured god with his impeccable hair-do
strays into the pop-up volcano –
Poof! Round One to the devious planet.
5514.
a boiled memory
limp and flavorless
and then she slammed the door
5515.
The vintage dishwasher coughs and falls silent.
Years of clean living are over.
Just like that.
5516.
The exotic domestic dresses worn by
the winged mannequins in the store window.
The society of silent sirens dressed to kill.
5517.
the shreds and divide them as may be done
Rake the rough with the smooth
Repair and sew it back up
into neat stripes. That’s all you can do.
5518.
why is the burner’s flame set to double?
why is the kitchen now a pile of rubble?
and why oh why isn’t she in more trouble?
5519.
a lot of advice from your uncle at the dinner table
your aunt sneaking you a look
Never mind him. There’s cake in the kitchen.
5520.
You open your mouth wide and laugh
You throw your head back
show me the flip side of your top front teeth –
I’ll never go out with you again.
5521.
Should the downstairs tooth
have to listen to the upstairs tooth
complain about having to live life upside down
all day every livelong day?
5522.
The trail adjusts
to the feet that walk it –
no, that is just not true.
5523.
a ticking clock:
closure
with lots of exits
5524.
Well, how would you say this inconvenient corpse
came to die here in our house? Quick, Geraldine,
I’ve only got a minute before the police arrive.
5525.
The near problems block out the far problems
until the far problems get near and then
they are far problems gone near and now being
chased by new far problems. Get it?
5526.
the suffix backs away from its word
bumps into the next guy in the sentence
gets kicked back into place.
Thank goodness for spell check.
5527.
This liquor
swings with the need.
A derogatory hypocrite playing me.
5528.
The drapery fringe
objects to the extraneous pressures
of its new suburban lifestyle
which now include a chew-happy puppy
5529.
By this time tomorrow
I will be moved from one square on the game board
to some other. No other details available.
5530.
underneath the hammer
the glass shatters and so I must then tell her:
sadly no, the iced tea is all gone
5531.
I have no idea why
her quick glance at the dustbin
unsettled me so
5532.
The westbound freight train’s horn
moans a concerto
to the accompaniment of the setting sun
5533.
behind the shadow
the sunlight drifts along
not much interested
5534.
if he gets chalky in the ambulance
he’ll bite all right, said the medic
but the tidy touch of an eraser will calm him down
From the collection The Immediate and No Sooner, published in 2021.
792.
vacant apartment
upstairs windows dark at night
ads jam the mailbox
1/16/20
793.
in a red sheath dress
way too sophisticated
for my cautious self
1/16/20
794.
not one syllable
but whole sentences spoken
in your pale blue eyes
1/23/20
From the collection published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.
Coming
I see a little green
said the workman
gazing out the window at the front lawn
where January is a big gray brown
spread out under a drizzle
falling from a dull sky
I see a little green
he said
turning back
to load the cart with boxes.
1/10/20
From the book published in 2021, The Immediate and No Sooner.
789.
I can’t imagine
what the oranges might feel
peel grated for zest
1/16/20
790.
Last summer’s car trip
all the way to Pittsburgh with
a couple of flies
1/16/20
791.
the dripping faucet
a plink plink percussion beat
for a whole house hop
1/16/20
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 