Peter and I have been a couple for 4 years.
Is it funny - odd funny - that we still mack-out in elevators?
Every time we kiss I feel like I’ve won the man-lottery,
that I’m counting and spending the loot all at once.
The man stirs my chemicals.
The bell dings and we separate like caught kids.
The inside elevator door’s mirrored - he’s so handsome.
I know writers are alchemists, that we’re guilty, at times,
of gilding the ordinary until it shines - but he’s the real deal.
.
.
Songs for this:
There goes my baby by Kelly Jones
thinking with body
exercising the mind's eye
watching not to trip
what floor are we on
is the door going to open
someone has B.O.
Mood elevators are needed
Exhuming pain and grief
When throb of love by heart’s heeded
Granting our soul relief
Pause awhile free from guile
Let heart’s innocence smile
Mile by mile, mile by mile
Ego sedators
Mood elevators
07-May-2022
Quietus
What if we all danced on top of the expensive cars
In the super market parking lot?
What if we all sang “Old Dan Tucker” loudly
in crowded elevators with suit people?
What if we rode psychedelic skateboards down dead man’s hill?
Would they think we were crazy or would they be jealous?
Reunions can happen
and leave you speechless.
I’m standing at a bank
of elevators in a hospital
going to visit my wife
when a wheelchair rolls up
carrying my internist
from years ago.
An excellent doctor
who retired to teach,
according to rumors.
Now he’s pushed by a woman
I assume is his wife.
She looks sad
and he looks worse.
He asks how I’m doing
and I say not bad.
I ask how he’s doing
and he says he’s dying.
And adds that he hopes
I never have to.
He says he never realized
despite his patients
dying could be so hard.
Donal Mahoney
In time good will return,
Predicted and rhythmical,
So that you will go up,
And be arithmetical,
To prove there’s free rides,
Some astronomical,
And that they’re for players,
Who are relational.
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