Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

The Drought

You drive down
the same country road
every day at dawn

and see through 
plumes of dust
this tall thin woman

straight as a scarecrow
in front of a field of corn
holding a hoe like a flag

tugging at a straw hat
and staring at the corn 
till she goes in the house 

and sits at the table
looks through the window
past ancient curtains 

and prays for the deluge 
she and Elmer will need 
for the slightest harvest

Singles Dance at the Union Hall

A skirt too tight on Carol Ann
summoned forth a handsome man

who said he had a foolproof plan
to help her get that skirt off

once the dance was over but 
she'd have to take him home.

He couldn't help her now
and interrupt the band. 

Carol Ann had often heard 
better lines from men and so

she told him she had criteria
to qualify a man who sought

to verify her assets.
First, he had to be a gentleman,

obtain the blessing of her father, 
and flash a rock with many facets.

Only then might such a man
have a chance to say "I do."

Undocumented Zombies

The nice thing about being dead
is you no longer care if the doctor 
mucked up your diagnosis and the  

pharmacist gave you the wrong pills.
You're cozy now in a comfy casket 
six feet below all the carnage  

in the world, without a worry, when 
a mastodon tsunami rolls over your 
peaceful cemetery and uproots 

thousands of caskets, tossing them 
high in the sky and forcing you 
and all the other zombies to float

You discover no port will take
undocumented zombies.
You have no papers, after all; 

you can't prove who you were or are
so you and the other zombies float 
for God knows how long since

God may not believe in zombies.
This is a rupture not a rapture.
And while you float, your lawyer

meets with your relatives who  
no longer weep about your passing.
They smile as he reads your will.

They plan on taking a family cruise 
with the proceeds from your estate. 
They'll dine on lobster and steak,

lay waste continuous buffets while
you and the other zombies float 
further out, unable to find a port 

where citizens will bury the likes of you.
Property values will drop, they shout.
They can't drop their signs and let you in. 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

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