touch a screen, little jaguar steering wheel turns, autonomous ghost driver
i wave to the world through tinted glass & white paint
inside the robot i am jonah, trapped by this modern god
offers me music, urges me to buckle up
i am mortal after all
spared from uber or lyft, they will eventually disappear, with their needless human chatter
i am in control now, my app does it all, my phone controls it, controls me
i don’t have a name anymore, just initials perched on top of this vehicle
this thing
my new metal deity, my mindless destiny
Category: Poetry
Alone in Winnipeg
how odd that I am here in october, scarred
scraped streets, waiting for the return of snow, searching for eleanor, a name, my mother, the one who let me go, adopted, how many times have i said the word? euphemism for unwanted, union of man & woman, for a minute? an hour? a lifetime? questions for canada, where she danced before moving to the u.s. to birth me-
alone in the archives, sifting through microfiche, obituaries, royal winnipeg ballet documents, playbills, eleanor christie, just a name, everything & nothing-
at night i dine on foie gras at resto gare in saint-boniface, flickering french lights, wine’s floating ether, who was she? who am i?-
shiver of winter air’s arrival, i tried, but you are gone.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This piece is poetic fiction. I am not adopted.
How I Found Etta James In San Francisco
late night, july, reading poem of the day, “megan married herself” by caroline bird, english poet, younger than me, fifth line- she strode down the aisle to “at last” by etta james, what do i know about etta james? (1938-2012), looking for connection, internet, internet, doo-wop, her love, my love, when? me, family basement, arlington, virgina, listening to smooth vocals with my father, 1981, etta, between ages 12-16 in the fillmore district of san francisco, 1950-1954, her group the creolettes-connected to creole- a mixture of european, african, and sometimes native american heritage, me, lived at 1550 fillmore in 1996, not creole, but i mix, time, place, words, people, takeaway? we walked the same pavement, liked the same music, never knew etta james, knew her a little bit.
Tanning While Listening To Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam
incongruous, fancy word, me, tanning, me, listening to “lost in emotion”-from 1987, incongruous, but isn’t that all of us? how well do we really know anyone? 24 hours in a day and what do we do with them? hopefully a ton, and some of that isn’t what you think, isn’t what i think, maybe you collect stamps? puffy stickers? or you read salinger, who knows? i guess that is the point, we don’t know much, instagram likes to tell stories, but who are we really? or maybe this is just me, a little bit of mystery, 80’s music out of puerto rican hell’s kitchen while getting ready for the almafi coast, who knew?
Death Of A Volvo
2011, my son was a year old, brand new family suv, you’ve seen it, know it, this is america, owning an suv is like brushing with crest, nothing special, just the passing of time, we only have so many cars, dogs, years, so here i am sitting in the carvana parking lot, check engine light on, brakes barely working, suspension in need of repair, surgery for someone else, time to say goodbye- to booster seats, school drop offs, oil changes, regular unleaded, sports radio, squeaky wipers, and all the rest, temporary rolling home, no more.
Gazing at Longevity Peaches
this is that poem, the one where the writer visits a museum, stares for a long time, tries to transcribe, translate, imbibe one artform into another, so here i am, san francisco, qi baishi, his peaches, better than super mario bros., ty cobb, safeway’s produce section, sickly sweet del monte in a can, better than ice cream, shout out sarah mclachlan, maybe not better than ice cream, but i’ve never seen frozen dessert so delectably hung on a wall, and to think he lived (1864) & died (1957) fully immersed in art, the way i want to swim in letters, inspiring, the colors, the colors, spheres, juice-filled suns on earth, made by human hands, human hands.
Of Mice and Grease
tell me more, tell me more, the musical didn’t get very far, first act, april, 1988, and i’m a freshman in high school, managed to avoid the senior crazies all year, the guys who threw all the parties, got into all the fights, the ones teachers feared, they are close to graduating, but not without one final senior prank, and this is where i come in, me and hundreds of other students watching grease, i don’t see the eight guys in the darkened auditorium, each with a sack of 50 mice, all 400 bought over several days before, details that come out later, the crazies release the rodents while danny zuko is crooning summer fling, don’t mean a thing, then that high pitch animal squeak screeches out from under every seat, an unnatural infestation, the screams begin, kids jump on seats, some run for the aisle, pure chaos, like the barf-o-rama scene in stand by me, i walk quickly to the exit, when i see slow-footed chris hagan, all 260-pounds of him laboring to get out too, i didn’t see the body of the crushed mouse under his reebok high tops, just splashes of scarlet blood splattered on his sneaker, for a second i lock eyes with chris, he’s visibly shaking, his jowls quivering, probably had never killed anything before in his life, a minute later i’m out of the theater, suddenly sad on a warm spring day.
Mexican Resort During Christmas
in the pool, they are tan with a cocktail in hand, the buzzed on winter vacation drink corona, tecate, modelo, cold cans and bottles reflect sun-drenched bodies, dipping tortilla chips in guacamole, pacific ocean december sunsets and gracias por la cerveza, bartenders wear red & white hats, but i can’t imagine santa visiting here, where footballs splash near plastic margarita glasses, and waiters wear fake smiles while working christmas eve, i try to find the deeper meaning in this alcohol and chlorine, relaxation, i suppose, but all i see is vapid sunshine, starlight without a soul.
After The Flip Phone
they radiate warmth, glow with a touch
they wake us up, send notifications, control calendars
they provide direction, share terrible text news
they are anxiety when lost
they are nothing, contain everything
they are addiction, mandatory for work
they are constantly held, gripped, stared at
they are photos, & more photos, preserving memory
they are low wage labor, somewhere in china
they are steve jobs, apple salaries supported
they are planned obsolescence, always updating
they are our servants, who we serve
Before & Now
i could try to put
all the words back together
months and years of poems
those fragments, pieces of bone
structure of love, my body
of work, endless expression
of our boundless truth
when we were both
younger, before
but now
only this
