March, Week 2

Day 8

Carbon-Based Pronouns

He shouldn’t worry about breathing 

out CO2. After all he’s carbon-based by design.

He is 70% H2O and getting dehydrated.

She should stop littering, smoking, dumping

plastic along the roadways. She ought to collect 

cans, bundle her cardboard, be a recyling queen.

We should take briquets we’ve bought for our barbeques,

make something useful: put them in mesh bags

to absorb fridge odor, in the composter to make it work.

The cops should start issuing tickets for littering, 

stop the jam of garbage in the storm drains,

leave speeders to their own ends, refocus on trash.

He shouldn’t worry about breathing

because if he and she and they and we don’t act soon

we will have no breath left. Carbon burns.

Day 9 

White Smoke

When I was a child, I thought as a child

ballots in the fire, surprise! 

No College of Cardinals’ chemistry sets,

but magic 

from the Very Hand of God,

 
       telling them, telling us;

burning forth a name.

A name, blown forth from flame,

like the name of Harry Potter

in the Goblet of Fire, a name for all

to see, written perhaps in the blood

of the dead pontiff. A mystery,

like the Holy Blood, a chalice of names

 
      only one survives the flames;

only one survives, a new name.

White smoke after days of black,

when I was a child, I thought as a child.

Now I am grown, and now I know

it’s the science of secrets, the science

of mystery, the science of magic tricks.

only one survives the flames;

what name is in the stove today?

Day 10

Σ 

a beach umbrella chaise

bent, folded over to make shade

for the mermaid who seeks shore

and a rest from salt, which makes

her dizzy. Such a chemical

that coats her hair, frizzes it beyond curls,

that makes her voice husky 

when she sings, that stays on her tongue

gives her a sore throat. Salt and brine. 

She is not staying long —

only moments before she will dry

to a crinkle, end up like Lot’s wife,

a statue on the sand, looking back

on where she could have been queen.

Day 11   

Closet Pantoum

There is nothing in my closet to wear.

Everything seems to have gotten smaller.

I am on the brink of great despair;

I stifle the urge I have to holler.

Everything seems to have gotten smaller;

Is it the condition of my dryer?

I stifle the urge I have to holler

and pull out huge clumps of my hair.

Is it the condition of my dryer?

Should I call the Maytag repairman

or just pull out huge clumps of my hair?

I have no patience with my wardrobe,

Should I call the Maytag repairman?

Can he fix my problem right away?

I have no patience with my wardrobe,

it just might be I need some outside help.

Can he fix my problem right away,

stop the clothes from shrinking?

It just might be I need some outside help.

That is what I have been thinking.

Stop the clothes from shrinking?

I  just want to start with something new.

That’s a better way of thinking.

Maybe shopping is the clue!

I fear the problem’s too much pizza;

I’m on the brink of great despair.

I’ll eat more salad, skip the pasta,

because there’s nothing in my closet to wear.

Day 12

Critics

The heck with all critics. Really — 

grab them by the hair, 

throw ‘em to the ground and make them pay. 

They never pay homage to poems, 

or send novelists a few kind comments 

for originality. There’s nothing original 

about a critic. One cookie cutter 

pressed into the dough

over and over and you’ve got critics

to bake and dust with the sugar they demand

from everyone who writes. The heck 

with publishers too, and the pimply-faced 

grad students they hire for a pittance to reject art,

and the editors who let this go on, certain 

that there is genuine art to be had

for contributor’s copies and a brief bio

in the backs of their journals. 

The heck with them all.

Day 13

Falling

stars, meteors, asteroids can

be out there in the daytime sky

hidden, secretive, with a plan.

You could ask the triceratops

what to look for, what’s coming —

except he was summarily stopped

by something bigger than himself

driven into the rock and shale.

So you now have to help yourself

to figure out what’s on tap

as the latest in oncoming disasters.

Total annihilation, a deadly slap

of tsunami waters on the land,

or fire in the sky from ancient rock

raining down to wipe out man?

Stars so beautiful, meteors flashing

across the blackest night,

until you realize they will be bashing

everything, including you to smithereens.

Day 14  

Rod Serling

Submitted for your approval:

two-headed Martians, green men

with bad intentions. Planets

visited, strange civilizations better

than ours. A land of shadow

reached only by imagination. 

Enter a dimension not only of sight 

and sound, but of mind: time

and space open for exploration.

Up is down, down is off to the side.

You’re in the zo-un. Your house

not your house, but a portal

to exploration. Travel a wondrous

journey, find the sign post up ahead.

There’s a place of shadow, ride 

the dream there and relax.Confused? 

Tell them everything Mr Serling, 

as time spirals into gray. Color

tv is on the way. Next week a little man 

will get his wish: permanent

residence in the Twilight Zone.