Oh, Mona Lisa,
thank you for teaching
me today at the coffee shop,
a lesson in how to smile
without smiling
I’ve always tried to offer
strangers a warm mitigating
grin that says, trust me.
I’m not so bad.
Maybe it seems childlike.
I don’t know. It certainly
feels that way.
Modicum of wordless kindness.
But you taught me today, Mona,
not to soften the edges.
Let them be jagged,
no grin at all.
He beats the space
with his fists, stomps.
Like this is the gorilla
cage. Like we are all
spectators. Watch me,
he says without words.
He blubbers through
his jowls sounds I cannot
measure or ascertain.
I am not sure what this
kid is doing, so I ask him
to sit back down.
Because that’s my job,
I drew this lot.
This is the time where
his jungle fury is put to bed
and he has to linger
in his animal swamp
until the bus pulls up.
More at https://jddehartpoetry.blogspot.com.
I saw her last week
bundled into a wheelchair
pushed around by her
daughter’s tongue.
She is past tense now
with apron and overcooked
potatoes left in the ceiling.
Husband used to go searching
for worms while the soil lay in wait.
Her hedge was the biggest
in the avenue. Keeping the
noses out, her voice in.
Those glasses that sat
on the bridge, watching
the world go by like some
toll gate man. She herself
with the busiest pupils around.
Now she sits on the spindles
being spun into the next life.
A worker
His sturdy blue uniform dirty
Grease under his fingers
Callouses on his hand
His hard work and bad back
A given trade
For his Friday pay
Two children and a wife
Waiting at home
Bills to be paid
Children expecting
The things
Other fathers provide
His is a challenge
A triage
Of bills and opportunity
A choice of who to deny
Who will wait
And who demands
A payment
The grind never changes
The kitchen table
Feeding his anxiety
Window letters
In a pile
Second notice
Final notice
All shuffled
Into sleepless nights
The morning clock
Pounds him awake
Too little sleep
The temptation
To bury his head
But he will not shirk
Rising from the bed
Bathing, eating
Putting his feet
In the heavy boots
The laces
Tying him
To forty years
Forty years
Then done
Gone too fast
With little left
Comes at us, disguises itself in incidents
some memorable, some we try to forget,
others, too trivial to recall.
Comes at us full of strangers, so crowded
we’re pushed to the edge of the platform,
all elbows and missteps, All mumbling and
maneuvering.
Comes at us through the mail, over the phone
full of odd voices and smudged words, full
of sound and shape without too much to hold
onto or believe in.
It comes at us, smiles, beckons, then slaps
when we reach out hoping for a break.
Gone, you will
look for me but will
not find me.
Run off by the
nagging criticisms, the
slack-jawed complaining
snarl you came
in with each day
Tired of hearing
malcontent wishes
for better places
I go away for good.
I will not be contained
By walls and roofs and ceilings
My reach extends further than my arms can hold
I will not be held down
By ropes and weights, nor feelings
My story is one that demands to be told
I will not turn my cheek
Nor raise my hand to strike back
I know that body bruises are easily healed
Nor will I write
In spiteful words to attack
A heart that perhaps might not even feel
I will not lose sight
Of myself, my thoughts, my ways
Revenge, I know, won’t bring me peace
All that I will do
When I’m left betrayed
Is take my time to pick up every piece
I will not allow
Heaven, hell, and all in between
To come in the way of my own happiness
I will write to my heart
Of hurt, pain, love, and dreams
And will rid myself of all the bitterness
I will not stoop low
To stand at level with you
I know what I am and what I can be
I will smile to myself
For I’m glad of this truth—
You are you, but I am me.
More at https://justmastuff.wordpress.com/.
This is a dreary gathering
of frumpy middle-aged mums
and grey-haired balding dads
with me uneasy in their midst.
Pillars of the community
they seem quite content,
a little too content perhaps,
having lost that vitality
of youth, solid citizens
set firmly in their ways,
long past the days when
they might have been
the agents of change
or seekers after truth.
Now they follow norms
indeed are the norms
and require their kids
to obey and conform
so that they’ll grow up
to be just like them.
My child’s teachers
greet me politely
with forced smiles
pretending to care
about her welfare
though after a day
at the chalkface
who can blame them
for not really wanting
to be here this evening?
She’s doing alright
in school they say
so everything’s OK
and they reassure me
her future looks bright
if she tries her best
and passes her tests
but as I look around
at this dismal crowd
I think, sweet Jesus,
please don’t let her
ever end up like us.
This is the one life
I get, after all, considering
all thoughts, philosophy,
all beliefs
So this morning, early I
commit to stop worrying,
to release my stresses
into the air, to live the best
life I can
Best way I know how.
For better or for worse
like most of us I suppose
he considers himself to be
the center of the universe.
Yes, with his wife and kids
steady job, detached house
and paid-up pension scheme,
everything’s absolutely fine
in his trivial suburban life
all going to plan we can see
from what he posts online.
He worships no deity
fears no kingdom come
and seems quite serene
when all is said and done
living in the here and now
his comfortable existence
sufficing for immortality.
Yet, one day this smug man
too will succumb to time
and though a few might weep
perfunctory tears for a while
at the well-attended funeral
in a generation not a soul
will remember he has gone.
Then, his only trace may be
the frozen Facebook page
on some forgotten database
where his final profile pic
will grin inanely on and on.