The Innisfree Poetry Journal
www.innisfreepoetry.org
by Barbara DeCesare
NOW HE’S WATCHING THE BALLGAME
Before that, when he came home from work, he put on his ratty shorts, the ones with the drawstring, bent down low to step into them⎯ his body, lanky and light, trying to be small, his gray head bowed to the ugliest garment he owns.
Then I helped him put my old kitchen table into the attic. There was nowhere else for it to go.
Now he’s watching the ballgame in the chair he had in college. His legs slung over the side, he’s trying not to fall asleep.
If I told him every time I thought it, how I love him, wish I could keep him just like this, I would grind the words to dust. He’d never believe that everything he does, I watch, as if he was a child with a fever or a match.
SOUL
There were a few who bared their souls⎯ James Dean and the Fonz, Rocky Balboa⎯ and I don’t know how it happened that those shirtsleeves rolled up meant so much more than strength. I might trace it to any couple of guys high fiving on the basketball court, saying something, You’ve got soul, when my eyes were fixed on the curve of a brown bicep, sweat adorned and firm.
You can imagine what my doctor thought when I asked about breaking my soul, how I took for granted it was in there with the breakables. Why else was it so important for the boys to mug with their tiny muscles flexed, for the display of this one body part to carry the strength of the whole self?
When things started to go bad and it looked like I might never get to heaven, my mother wagged her finger; her soul sloshed around in the flabby wing of her arm and I thought it might get sick from that.
But I found the picture of Rosie the Riveter, and knew there was a place for me in Paradise. The look on her face was the look I always got in trouble for making. There she was, with her soul out in front. We can do it! she told me, the four-word gospel on which eternity depends.
POSSIBLE DREAMS
Midnight
Mike Tyson bites off Van Gogh's ear. Who's the champion now, bitch? Michael spins around, tries to bite the ear off one of the self portraits. There he is, his face stained with straw-colored oil, his eyes wild as swirls in the sky. He holds the ear between his teeth. That's mine. My ear. Vincent says. This one here he points This is yours.
1 a.m.
Walt Whitman visits Oliver North in the prison hospital. Ollie falls in love with Walt, but cannot come to terms with his physical feelings for him. Instead, he vows to name his first son Walter and to be a soldier for love. Later, Oliver North gives birth to Walt Disney, then Walter Cronkite and the greatest of these is love.
2 a.m.
All the girls named Laura have a fight with all the girls named Rebecca. It happens like that every now and then, although it is not planned. The girls with long braids cry first. Usually it's a Rebecca who wins. No one knows why for sure.
3 a.m.
I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last man on Earth! What if I was the first man on the moon? Maybe I would kiss you then. He picks her up in the crook of his left arm and sticks his right fist into the sky. 1) Nothing happens; or 2) They arrive on the moon, but she is already dead. Either way, he doesn't get the kiss.
4 a.m.
I am a race car driver. I race against a car full of birds. The birds fly inside the car, propelling it with double force. My car is falling apart. The birds are in the lead. The crowd really wants the birds to win.
5 a.m.
Once you get to the hotel, Todd's dad arrives. He knocks once and lets himself in, immediately opening the suitcase full of Amway products and beginning the speech about No better cleanser and Fast acting and Safest insect repellant on the market. You agree to buy lip gloss for your daughter. It looks like a lava lamp. Todd's dad is pleased with your choice. He offers to gift wrap your purchase.
6 a.m.
Donkeys fill the grocery store and Jonathan Winters stands on the meat cooler with a megaphone directing traffic, but in a mischievous way that steers the donkeys away from the aisles they are looking for.
7 a.m.
Susan B. Anthony's black eye is hideous. Her cigarette is mostly a miracle extension of ash. If I was a little faster, Susan says, just a little faster.
7:15 a.m.
Let's watch Hogan's Heroes until we wake up. Well, that sounds like a good idea, but ten minutes into the show, you realize you've seen this episode and it isn't such a good one. The real problem is that now it's too late to find something else to watch and really get into it, you know, you missed the first ten minutes, plus this time you spent worrying about it.
THE EXAMINED LIFE
Call this spit your shower, or your supper if you want, then lie down here beside me and we'll do our best to breathe.
If there's a dollar in your pocket then nothing's wrong, my dear, just lie down here beside me and we'll do our best to breathe.
A comic book heroine I used to once resemble wrapped her wrists in thick gold bracelets, hero places I should open, had a magic truth-tell lasso and plane I couldn't see, but I knew there was a plane. I had faith. I have faith.
I call this faith my shadow, or my supper when I want, then I lie down beside you and I do my best to breathe.
It's this breath that keeps us empty of the things that we desire. Darling, here's my magic lasso, let's play hangman till we win and I'll lie down here beside you where we tried our best to breathe.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication
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