ECONOMICS
Grunt, from the hunt,
Has more than he can eat.
Groan, maker of tools of stone,
Trades a spear point
For a fat leg joint.
Moan, who sews skins
Traded for an ax sharply honed
And a nice shoulder bone.
But when the tribe grew big it was seen
That something was needed in between.
And decided to use pebbles,
Those special with a sheen
Given a value that could be seen.
Much later things sold
Were bought with gold
Leading to goods venders
And money lenders.
Paper bills and coined copper
Required there be a safe place proper.
Thus banks were formed so
Money could freely come and go.
The bankers loaned money in a way
That they knew the debtor could repay.
Or did they?
No! these fools
Broke basic economic rules
And collapsed the banking system
With greed and lack of wisdom.
Now we have to pay.
Money corrupts.
Maybe pebbles were a better way.
The Assassin’s Love Affair
Neck thin, veined, soft
Curved sexually past the breast
The waistline lures handling
With sure fingers
Quietly the blade pinches her collar against her
Shoulder bone
Above the heart
The sweaty haired arm with its tattooed muscles
Flexed
Relaxed
The bread is cut
The wine pours thick into the crystal
Eye
Of a panting, toothless mouth
The intercourse
The razor sharp condom
The quiet lover
The cigarette.
Your reverbarating
heartbeat silhouettes
the love that we're in,
your proverbial eyes
hide the fate that
terribly awaits, all my
life i've wondered
where you've been, the
sudden sound of wings
as birds migrate. I love
your smile, your accent
too, i'd be there right
now, if you asked me
to. Your softest touch,
your, rosé voice. You're
glamorous face and the
things you do. You
heave to kiss with lips
so rare, your laughter a
sound of sonnets fair,
your hair falls down
your shoulder bone,
one gaze from you and
i'd turn to stone.
Alone at the Seaside.
Sunday, October sunlight, I´m at the marina admiring
a boat made of wood, hull, deck and the bridge; I was
dreaming of mystical islands in the Pacific. An elderly
man near me spoke, said it was his ship, it had been
a fishing vessel…Asked if I wanted to come onboard
and have a look…Yes thank you. Everything onboard
was spick& span, but noticed the freezer in the pantry
took too much space. The cargo hold of his vessel was
converted a salon, but why all those black silk pillows,
on sofas and chairs? Thought it sinister. The man was
standing too near me taking up my pace and breathing
my air. Back on deck he invited me for an afternoon trip,
but told him I had to go home for my tea. Driving home
I thought of the freezer again, perhaps he wanted to lure
to the open sea throttle me with one of the black pillows
cut me into pieces and put each part in nice plastic bags with
name tags on, say, left leg, shoulder bone, thigh and foot.
use them as bait when he went shark fishing. Once again
my hunch had saved my life.
I.
At Bredinsburg Road Cemetery
the fence pillars
stand arched
on each side
where the empty space of
shoulder bone meets shoulder bone.
II.
I tread lightly
here,
tombstones
white chipped shale
scattered and tilted askew
flat like deli plates
tossed wilily nigh
lengthwise into the ground.
III.
Some,
bear children’s names
angel’s feathers rubbed off
by the wind’s thin unmeaning elbows,
huddle like baby teeth
dappled
in the shadows
of wealthy marble monuments,
plaques that say
even in death we are above you.
IV.
Beneath
my dampened sneakers
moss the consistency of marshmallow
squishes silently,
a whimper
of earth.
V.
Behind me
faint foot fall
like the murmur of an infant
paddle
through the thick of dead leaves.