Douglas Polk- Three Poems

The Bar Scene

her t-shirt said something about climate change,

but I mainly noticed she wore no bra,

trying to think of something green to say,

I move across the barroom,

until close enough to her her,

criticizing my beloved St. Louis Cardinals,

I curse the time wasted,

and contemplate telling her,

climate change a hoax.

 

 

Hallways

our destiny dark,

disembodied voices heard,

mumbling down the dank dismal halls,

past souls,

spirits attempting to lead and guide,

or the voices,

only a symptom of a madness growing deep inside,

a hall chosen,

rudderless,

bouncing from door to door,

each one locked,

unwilling to budge,

the fear grows,

as the distance diminishes to the end of the hall.

 

 

Spoiled

Senator Rockefeller,

forever the spoiled brat,

child of the rich,

a school house tattle tail,

telling errors of the past,

Senator Feinstein,

an ignorant bitch,

willing to let Americans die,

to play party politics,

though her sins still hidden away,

Pharisee and hypocrite,

standing in the temple,

for all to see,

while voices cry from the wilderness,

ignored and forgotten.