The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Steven Trebellas

TRICK ACAPELLA ANGEL

The lonely Doo-wop man carries his heart
through the streets of the obsidian city. Obelisks,
like colossal electric razors gaze on his pompadour
as he inches along, but make no harmony with him.
He remembers friends―Johnny, Fast Eddie,
Magic Mike, and sad/sweet songs that made
the Ladies cry―sung beneath the moon,
on a South-Philly corner―so long ago.
He tells a cart-vendor who is too cold to care,
that he once opened for the Belmonts, and his song―
the one that was stolen, would have made him. His voice:
smooth, like a Winston makes you think it's true,
but the wind cuts him short with a warning,
and the sun ducks behind clouds as if avoiding
association, so he hi-fives and heads for the shelter.
The lonely Doo-Wop man does not know
that in Heaven tonight, one trick Acapella Angel
will sing all 4 parts of his song--the one that was stolen―
the one that would have made him―and that Girl-Angels
will cry (a little) and all this in an optimised town,
on a perfect Doo-wop corner, and beneath a singer's moon.
Season's over. Time to store the cart. So much can happen
between now and April, and the lonely Doo-Wop man
with nowhere to go but up.


OPHELIA
    (based on an  EMT report)

The patient was found
eating dirt and
trying to stuff a baby
back into her womb.
She is nude. She is
currently making no sense.
She is threatening, stating she
will place a spell on all of us.
She is delusional,
accusing us of conspiracy, saying
we are lower than she,
that we will eat dirt, that we
will attempt to re-enter our
mother's wombs.
The patient says our time is up.
The patient says it is we
who are delusional.



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