(for John Dorsey)
Reading John Dorsey
in the late afternoon…
His words of villains and loneliness
never to be told by any visitor
crossing my threshold…
I turn the pages and see
more tales of John Wayne,
Gregory Corso and the
syntax of situation.
He always gets it right, that crazy beautiful poet.
I also read John Dorsey’s poetry
in the early morning hours.
Because women have been
scarce and Chinese food is
a poor substitute for companionship
at 3 AM.
Sorry John, my Little Boy beats to
daffodils of isolation.
The clock continues to tick and the
grass grows over the walkway to my
So John…keep the pen handy for sad
saps like me…Who want to keep the
fire warm and the chill always handy…
Overhearing an Educated Conversation
A college girl is raking the leaves on an unaccustomed warm January day, while the rest of the male educators are staring out the window at her,
commenting on their desire to be twenty years younger.
Wearing a blue farmer-bib, auburn hair tied in a ponytail that she has to keep adjusting when she puts more muscle into her raking technique.
After all, these leaves were buried under the snow a week ago. Now they are exposed on the hill near her dorm.
She has decided to do something about it.
The faculty still looks in shameful lust.
I type a poem that tries to portray innocence.
And for once, I have succeeded.