for some of you
know my method
my way of writing
is to take a line from
something i just read
for some of you
borrowed, now mine
how precious to
hold and do differently
this life, better than
the one before
and we all have had
a life
before, especially the
buddhists, hindus, and
believers in more than
football, beer
and sephora, the
surface shimmers, glimmers
with hope that the
veneer is real, but
for some of you
meaning, me, it is
thin ice
and i’ve already broken
through
into the cold water
Category: Poetry
Stream #2 or Artificial Intelligence
they told me long ago
we must keep up with the joneses
and so we lost our horse
bought a car, a fridge
a tv, a microwave, a personal
computer, an answering machine
cellphone, email, you get the
idea, now A.I., euphemism
for ending humanity, too strong?
no, not really, and again they
say it is inevitable, you must
learn to live with the robots
because the waymos are
here, they aren’t going away
because someone, somewhere
is making too much money to
slow it down, so we teach our
children how to write papers with
machines doing the the work, because
well, this is the future, post-writing
when whatever we people think
doesn’t really matter, only the algorithm
knows, it knows where we go
what we watch, when we sleep
it predicts our next purchase, predicts
the future, is the future, resist
whatever that means
Stream #1
what i should do
is not hesitate
like in the past
go boldly into
this blue ink
nothing, it is
everything, but
only for me
in this second
i try to tell the truth
and nothing but
what i’ve learned on tv
those sitcoms like
three’s company
and imagine
that all of life could
be the regal beagle
a stage set in
the 80’s, and yet
this goes on, we call
it netflix, my old
nemesis, my old
friend, what i should do
i don’t, the humans
make mistakes
the revolution
will be televised
but there will
never be a
revolution
Budweiser
king of beers, with
horses trotting through snow
men holding cans
red and white
etched on coolers, on
tap handles, pulled by
bartenders, all over this
land, we love to
drink it up, cold
those majestic bubbles
eventually go stale sitting in
plastic red cups, or on
stained shoes, missed drips
unsteady moments, swerving
to get home
no, not royalty
but it can rule us
this little liquid
we love it so
Homeless Ice Cream
every morning i drive by ben & jerry’s
haight-ashbury, hippie history
he sleeps on sticky stairs
remnants of mint chocolate chip, the
sugary smell underneath sleeping bag
comforts his drunk, drugged out body
pressed against concrete like
ice cream against waffle cone, but
this isn’t dessert, i think
of the hundreds of tourists’ feet
smiling, licking
walking on his bed
Instagram Influencer
watch me applying tinted serum or wearing snake skin heels, i’m on the gram, insta, & luckily you pause to watch me, because i matter, this matters, my feet, my face, my expensive complexion, i look good, toes covered in dead reptiles, you make me happy with your likes & i make you happy as you ponder buying products to be like me, symbiotic, our relationship, me, wealthy, well-kept, well-dressed, you, trying to keep up, keep trying.
When I Used To Ski
injured vertabrae is my reality, what do i miss? you ask in february, easy to answer, cross-country skiing, white snow, pine trees, vast mountains, i’m nothing & everything, expanse of time & space, gliding on undulating slopes, effort sweat spreads, limbs working hard, heartbeat, blood knows i’m at peace, no cellphone reception, only the next climb, one ski in front of the other, smooth swish, bits of ice crystal on boots, now just memories.
When The Holidays Are Over
no more 8am waking up, dean martin really can’t stay, chestnuts stop roasting, the hallmark channel starts to countdown from 364, the radio quits playing it’s the most wonderful time of the year, dead christmas trees adorn city concrete, jimmy stewart disappears back into nostalgia, family says goodbye, credit card bills get paid, calories are cut, gym memberships rise, green & red sweaters go back into cedar chests, thank you cards are written, hot chocolate loses its luster, mistletoe romance becomes memory, new year’s resolutions begin, to do lists resurface, everyone gets a little older & 2023 says goodbye.
Listening To My Shortwave Radio
you might think it was all tina turner, the cars, or tears for fears, but vinyl could only take me so far, same songs, over & over, flip to side 2, try to save allowance money for the new billy idol album, or listen to casey kasem, see if anyone fresh was in the top 40, but then i got my GE shortwave radio & became an auditory magellan, forget karma chameleon & all that pop sound, i now spent nights slowly turning the dial, on a quest to travel the airwaves, listening as the basketball play by play guy said, louisville has the ball, i added a marker dot to my map of cities: new orleans, pittsburgh, morgantown, buffalo, each night i tuned in to: games, preachers, news, weather, anything & everything, in search of a new locale, another mark for my map, of course it was more than this, i was a 1980’s lewis & clark kid, connecting with my country, & this is still what i’m doing today, except i’m the one broadcasting & you might be in croatia instead of cincinnati.
Working at the 30th Street Senior Center, 1996
the elderly are grumpy, cloistered together in plastic chairs, waiting for their number to be called, i’m the guy with the microphone calling the numbers, the elevator can only take 8 people down to the cafeteria at a time, i’m so lonesome all the time, since i left my baby behind, on blue bayou, i’m crooning to the mostly spanish speaking geriatric crowd, entertainment for the hungry, they smile, call me young clin-ton, or danielito, charlie is my elevator operator, he gives me a shout when he’s ready for more people, send them my way danny boy, they shuffle their feet, eager to eat a free meal, i say hello to conchita, manuel, margarita, & maria vela, they are all so kind -i only worked at the senior center for 6 months, but they gave me a few hundred dollars & a nice card when i left, periodically i looked through obituaries over the years, one by one they disappeared.
Daniel W. Polk 