Kelley White- Three Poems

 

Song of the Concord Coach

 

I never went to prison but

I spent a few nights in jail

No I never went to prison but

I spent those few nights in jail

They tried to find my lover

When they did he wouldn’t post my bail

 

I play over and over

The voice of a man I once loved

He’s in a smoky barroom

His voice is smoky too

And the loop says over and over

I remember the time when you. . .

 

I had a little dog named Fido

Her other name was Faith

Just a little dog with white fur

And dark eyes in her little face

And I let that man watch her

She never showed him any teeth

 

He’s outgrown his first name

You’d better call him by his last

He’s let go of his first name

He could never make it last

Got no driver’s license

Playing much too false and fast

 

I hear sweet voices of children

Speaking a tongue I do not know

Three rows ahead

Their mother tries to quiet them so

Nobody’ll ask where they come from

Nobody really needs to know

 

The blind man in the back

His white cane folded in his lap

I might ask to sit beside him

I don’t think anyone would laugh

Except the man himself

He’d know I haven’t got a chance

 

Two men in conversation

I catch just one or two words

I have the ‘wheelchair seat’

Quite accidentally I didn’t ask

Over my head three straps are flapping

I can’t make out their laughs

 

The whole bus is kneeling and embracing

Three heavy straps above my head

Everybody’s got a seat mate.

I’m alone. That man is dead

To me. He wouldn’t bail me out.

Was in somebody else’s bed.

 

 

(found poem)

Racing great John Henry, 32, euthanized at Ky. Horse Park

 

The gelded son of Old Bob Bowers out of Once Double won four Grade I races and

Horse of the Year honors at age 6 and 9 and collected seven Eclipse awards from 1980

through 1984.

 

To the end, John Henry remained cantankerous, said Cathy Robey, who runs the park’s

Hall of Champions, where the horse was stabled.

 

“He has always been nasty, from day one,” Robey said. “John has always had a little

attitude problem. He’s like the little guy with the chip on his shoulder. He has so many

people that would never actually touch him or get near him, but they love him.”

 

 

 

Salem

 

Your dogwind tastes of oranges and sweat.

A horse blanket on the tongue, ocean salt lit

by a bellowing moon. That red wind. That

forgetful moon. What will this lover do

about dawn? Push it back into night and feed

it darkness. Let the clock make it new. She’s

flying from her heavy shoes. His memo staring

with its stupid dull I’s. White eagle of anger—

she’ll tear it with her claws. Yes-she’ll try

harder. Yes-she’ll come to work on time.  Yes-

she’ll bow to your pretty scraped heels. Push

a bigger stone? Carry sharper knifes in

her hair? Next time you ring her she’ll have

a blizzard in her ear. You’ll know it’s headed

for you. White white white. Cold. White.

I delight in your criticism. Productivity?

As if my voice is a ball bearing to rivet in

a groove. Look,  its turning like a rock in

the purple see. I’ll praise myself. Bite your

dogwind and swallow honey. Now. Walking

to Georgia with a be in my hat. Dr. Watson OK’d

the corral and I know my gun,  Hun. I know

the clockwork in a killer’s ear. I know the roll

of ghost dice and the ointment in your hair.

So long, Balm of Gilead. Shalome. Salaam.



Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA.  Her most recent books are TOXIC ENVIRONMENT (Boston Poet Press) and TWO BIRDS IN FLAME (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.