Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

The Drought

You drive down

the same country road

every day at dawn

and see through 

plumes of dust

this tall thin woman

straight as a scarecrow

in front of a field of corn

holding a hoe like a flag

tugging at a straw hat

and staring at the corn 

till she goes in the house 

and sits at the table

looks through the window

past ancient curtains 

and prays for the deluge 

she and Elmer will need 

for the slightest harvest

Singles Dance at the Union Hall

A skirt too tight on Carol Ann

summoned forth a handsome man

who said he had a foolproof plan

to help her get that skirt off

once the dance was over but 

she'd have to take him home.

He couldn't help her now

and interrupt the band. 

Carol Ann had often heard 

better lines from men and so

she told him she had criteria

to qualify a man who sought

to verify her assets.

First, he had to be a gentleman,

obtain the blessing of her father, 

and flash a rock with many facets.

Only then might such a man

have a chance to say "I do."

Undocumented Zombies

The nice thing about being dead

is you no longer care if the doctor 

mucked up your diagnosis and the  

pharmacist gave you the wrong pills.

You're cozy now in a comfy casket 

six feet below all the carnage  

in the world, without a worry, when 

a mastodon tsunami rolls over your 

peaceful cemetery and uproots 

thousands of caskets, tossing them 

high in the sky and forcing you 

and all the other zombies to float. 

You discover no port will take

undocumented zombies.

You have no papers, after all; 

you can't prove who you were or are

so you and the other zombies float 

for God knows how long since

God may not believe in zombies.

This is a rupture not a rapture.

And while you float, your lawyer

meets with your relatives who  

no longer weep about your passing.

They smile as he reads your will.

They plan on taking a family cruise 

with the proceeds from your estate. 

They'll dine on lobster and steak,

lay waste continuous buffets while

you and the other zombies float 

further out, unable to find a port 

where citizens will bury the likes of you.

Property values will drop, they shout.

They can't drop their signs and let you in. 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.