Washing Windows
She asked me why
window-washers wear harnesses
I said for their loved ones.
She giggled,
“I don’t love you.”
So I took it off,
pulled her out of the window
and we both fell to our deaths.
One of us went to Hell.
———-
Why Did You Plant Flowers
Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.
Why did you go
into the garden, when
I told you there are
never flowers.
I wanted to send you away
but I was too weak when
you wanted to stay with me
and I said hide, but
you wanted to plant.
Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.
Why did you go
into the garden
where there is no rain
and a bomb
fell on you.
———–
Rubble of You
You are so beautiful
with streaks of dirt
on your face, and
torn clothes.
Gorgeous are you
with matted hair
and blood, because
they’ve pulled you
from the rubble
and I heard you whisper
I love you
—————-
Never-mind
Sometimes when I go fishing
I catch fish. Last time
a lot.
decided to sell, so
I went to the fish market
to see how they do it.
He said, “How many pounds do you want?”
I said, “None. I’m selling not buying”
He said, “Stop fishing.”
I went to the market to sell books.
She said, “Go fishing.”
He said, “Go fly a kite.”
What am I supposed to do
with books on how to
fly a fish, and
fish a kite out of water
with a catfish and a hook?
—————–
Adopt A Martyr Lottery Machine
It’s in the Supermarket
between the frozen vegetables
and the fish monger concession
It takes credit cards or bills.
Many photos of women and children.
A charming photo
on my lottery card
the family I adopted
My adopted family on the news:
machine gunned to death; means
I won a prize: a million dollars. Now
I can afford sizable fresh fish.
Went across
from the vegetables
to buy a fish, and
showed the aproned man a copy
of my winning card. He
fell to the floor, flopping around
gasping for air, whispered
“My daughter, my daughter…
I told her not to join the revolution.”
I said,
how many pounds is the fish? He
didn’t answer so I shot him dead,
and several people had his card —
they all cheered because
some days are lucky
———–
On Being Cheerful
Some creamy ice
though cold and white
has no cherry on top
but only stones below, although
its photo is nice, its
clouds majestic, this mountain
Down and cold just below its top
the mountain piques me, takes
me down without a flag, an
inglorious retreat from ledge of death
no prize for frost; I
fall on shattered icicles cutting
crystalline loneliness, an
avalanche without prayer; I
haven’t reached any peak, for
never in the valley without song
were cheerleaders
ever real in off-time chants
a game without purpose
within a pompon face
a Kabuki without soul in
made up role
rolling seasons of bland
blandished like
roly-poly trophies
for pudgy spirits
unrisen dough
rolled to be crusty
never wrapped around
fruitful filling,
never in the valley where all were
drab stand-offs off-putting
waiting to putt on dull greens
show off
send random climbers
to their deaths
for amusement, gossip, and
news about brave fools
up a mountain without a fog horn
or paddle from an ark
Alone and down
I walk away from
ledges of death
to icicles that
shatter like glass
cut many ways
Rose colored blooms of blood blossom
thorny questions, because
Positive spin
had made me nauseous
dizzy
peppered in pep-talk, I had
sneezed ideas as common as pollen,
few flowers to share
cold
I descend now
Alone
I won’t mind
a glass of wine, and
death without
another winter, but
my orchard remains. I
reach for one
last summer.
Barks.
Does someone come?
I am afraid
Backdoor Poetry
Amazon
Chloë 