Trish Saunders- Two Poems

CURT'S LEG

 

Finally, you come to the reason for your letter, 

Whatever happened to Cousin Curt?

I'll tell you, but first a stiff bourbon, no ice,

and no questions after.

Curt gave up his diet of Fatso’s Fried Chicken;

coke, booze and ecstasy; 5-Hour Energy Shakes

and a crazy ex-wife too fond of guns.

(They give you no choice in rehab.)

But losing his darling Harley

after losing his license--

that took the heart out of him,

silenced his merry baritone belting out

“Mississippi River Won't You Keep On Shining.”

Rattlesnake stole our beautiful 

bad-boy cousin who had

loved snakes his entire life, some 

devil sank its fang into Curt's left leg 

out in the White Mountains 

where he’d pitched his tent

hoping to find 

a little peace.

If Curt phoned someone

in his final hour,

I don’t know
who it would be—

God, maybe.

He’d found religion, you see.

I’m sure Curt sent out his prayers

and who can say

they were not answered.

The Honolulu Arms 

Think I can afford a million dollar condo?
You’re blowing smoke up your ass,

says the woman behind me 

to the agent handing her a brochure. 

We’re just here for the free lunch,  

she adds, thumbing at me.

I’m really here to spend some time 

while my car is loaded on a ship 

bound for Seattle, but I see
tears pooling in her eyes,

so I nod, yes, we’re together.

An hour later, our tour of the Honolulu high-rise

is over, and we walk silently through the

marble lobby; looking in vain for hors d'oeuvres.

The woman plucks a plumeria

from the bush at the front door, 

jabs it defiantly behind her left ear.

I’ll leave you here, she says.

Bio:  Trish Saunders began writing poems in answer to a New Year's Resolution on December 31, 2013. She divides her time between Seattle and Honolulu.