Saturday, October 19, 2013

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

Windsor Knot

Do you remember how
to tie a Windsor knot 
the way your father taught you
on graduation day
in eighth grade

the man who wore a tie 
twice perhaps at most--
on the day he got married
and the day he was put to rest,
the same tie for both events.

Then almost every day for 40 years
you tied that Windsor Knot
because office attire required it.
Now you haven't worn a tie  
since the day of your retirement.
You'll need that knot 
twice more for certain--
as pall bearer for besotted 
Uncle Pat and for yourself 
the day you're buried. 

Both days your Windsor Knot 
had better pop out right 
or the ghost you don't believe in 
may drop by to show you  
one last time how to tie it.

It Happened at the Art Institute

"Tell Pablo I cannot see!" 
says the man in the Picasso painting
as I pass by, program in hand.
The man has a hairy nose 
where each of his ears should be.
And his ears have become a butterfly 
where his nose ought to be.
I paid top dollar to see this exhibit.

The man in the painting rants on:
"Pablo has done me wrong!
The eye in the middle of my forehead 
has a detached retina.
I need a new eye so I can watch  
you and the other voyeurs  
roll your eyes and laugh at me.
Tell Pablo I cannot see!"

Three Women Wait for the Morning Bus

One, a nun, has
her transfer in her hand.
She's silently praying.

Another, a hooker, has 
her income in her purse.
She's lighting a cigarette.

Another, a mother, has
her mind on her children.
She's going to work.

None of them knows what 
they share this morning:
ova ripening.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

No comments:

Post a Comment