Thursday, September 5, 2013

Tom Hatch- Three Poems

Panther morning  
It is 5:40 AM having twenty minutes 
left to lay with some
Thoughts before having 
to get up I could do this
Like a panther pouncing 
on prey before the morning
Pounces on me 
I am the prey for a moment knowing there is a
Rooster out there somewhere I hear
in the grey morning
With much more vigor 
than I can cock and doodle 
That sounds in my room
The minutes dwindle into 
The shower the night goes
Down the drain is this yesterday
today or tomorrow
 I a spotted panther 
that is what I am left with
Disguised as a man I will 
shave all the fur off anyway
Gnawing on a leather 
Briefcase in the
Crowd of type A
Prowling through
Grand Central 
With money on their minds

Dipteria of Caddying 

Uncle Gordo was a caddy
Walked with a dip
A mad man he
Saw Jesus and the
Satan many times battling it
Out at the foot of his 
Bed a quilt work 
Of the damned
Slamming his hand
Through the window pane 
His best friend was
Golf Ball Eddy they saw 
Death staring it in the eyes of the Korean War
He walked with a dip too

At 25 cents a piece
Gordo was a master 
At finding the pitted white
Balls in ivy and high turf
He could spot one at
Twenty feet in 
A storm drain
He ran with a dip
Traveled the buses 
We ran with him to catch
The one that took us
To Brentwood entering
The lower part of the greens
Through a hole in the fence
He made years ago 
That was his secret
He told us stories of
The multimillionaires 
That lived along the fairways of the course 
Walking with a dip to the caddy shack
Below the main club house
Under the suspended bridge
That connected the ninth tee
To the ninth green
He shagged balls on slow days
With a white towel on his hands
Good days he carried a double 
Made twenty bucks a bag
I carried a single one day
For the scare crow of 
The Wizard of Oz
He tipped me ten at the ninth
Hole with a coke then
Tipped me another ten at 
The End 
Gordo was my man always
Ready to loan you a twenty (really give it to you)
showing me and my brothers
how life walks with a dip
At the Bel Air country club
Of the wealthy, famous and poor getting along

Fog, dew, crows and shower parting hair 

A showers "thought" this morning 
Fog is a warm cozy blanket
The dew has saturated into my feet on stone floor 

The crows crowed as they fly and throwing themselves out of the fog
The fog is picked up and carried off by 

The arms of the dew into a hazy sun light
The crows gather as a murder on the emerald lawn 
The thought of fog and dew and crows
Is throwing me from the parting of my hair 
A part should be as natural as the falling rain
If I was hunting in the wild for breakfast
Flinging myself around looking for any colored beetle
Under rocks or tarantulas to roast over a morning fire
My hair would have parted naturally by now

whipping my head I grab the brush
A thought of Biting into a well endowed 
Roasted hairy arachnid 
there it is in the mirror au natural 

Back to a morning thought
The fog is gone the hazy sunlight clear

The murder has flown away to the telephone lines
Across the road waiting for me to send them
To their next killing roost not any where near my hair

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