Monday, September 30, 2013

Michael Cluff- Three Poems

Sour Salt

In the year
of celebrating
as the "Backwards Lady"
in the north part
of the county
just before the wildfires
settled in
as usual,

Appleton shot out
all the fake flamingos
in Mrs. Bannister's sideyard,

and Dad never came home
for a very long time
every other weekend evening
or so it seemed.

A cousin
nearly divorced
her husband
after he was held hostage
half a week
and almost died----
the way one normally does.

Appleton hurt too much,
love tastes a bit
too close to sour salt

when the wet season
and November 2nd
rolls in

sand spikes
in the neutral air.

Blondie Moreno

Vodka on the veranda
attache case dismembered
an executive dives
into foes
only financially hidebound.

Arnie Swenson and Brandon Bigelow

Exercises extensively
with his Mercury door handles
a fourscore minute fitness plan
he declares with an air
exact days
of Noah's flood
for each side.

The psychiatrist
watches from his fourth floor off ice window
sets up another appointment
then strips off
his expensive wingtip shoes
and argyle socks
and chews on a clean toenail
for a random change.

No comments:

Post a Comment