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Mike Lef Poem
You’d like to tell them,
those middle management flunky
shove it up your ass, &
maybe you should’ve
told them!
But then you remembered
Kline.
He told them, just that!
More balls then brains.
They crucified him,
like Christ
but,
he never did come back
after three days…….
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2013
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Mike Lef Poem
Says, the old man begs him
each time he visits him at
the nursing home, to put a pillow
over his face while asleep help end
his suffering,
but he watches too many C.S.I spin-offs
on t/v ,
and the old guy’s just not worth the attention..
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2011
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Mike Lef Poem
Don’t wanna go down there wait for death
comfy & warm in the dead of winter,
be able to walk around in shorts & tee shirt
or worst scenario.
A light jacket and long pants on their so called
‘cold days’, seventy to seventy four degrees.
Seeing what I saw those few weeks there
on vacation,
is gonna take a whole other lifetime
to forget.
Don’t wanna live with the living dead,
be shown pictures of their grandchildren
every time you turn around, sit down
enter another room,
grandmas with their recently deceased
husband’s memories still fresh in their minds
or close to dead ones stored in
nearby convenient to get to nursing homes,
all smelling like I remember my mom smelling.
.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2011
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Mike Lef Poem
Took Miss Wilson away
she was dead for over a month,
smell at came from her house
ten time worst then a skunk.
There was a crowd in front of her house
noisy neighbors and some passer-by's.
They carried her out in a black zipper bag
not a tear from any ones eyes.
Whose gonna miss Miss Wilson?
Not a soul from what I could see.
They all left when the show was over.
When there was nothing left for them to see.
The police they went back to protecting
the firemen who knocked down her door.
They all went back to the living
and Miss Wilson ain't living no more.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2010
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Mike Lef Poem
He nods at his wife of forty years,
twist face points gestures.
Why speak,
why speak at all?
Hasn’t it all been
said before?
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2010
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Mike Lef Poem
In school, well
at least until the
middle of middle school,
we’d exchanged
Valentine's Day cards.
Even if you were like me
you were bound to come
home with a few cards.
Not that I was Quasimodo,
but I knew my place
in the pecking order,
as those who handed me
a card
'no doubt knew theirs'.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2024
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Mike Lef Poem
He was right.
It was me, he was describing
watching TV bills piled up
living paycheck to paycheck.
How did he know?
I wasn't lazy
just needed guidance motivation,
someone to show me.
How to make a million
without leaving my house.
How did he know?
I was ready
to have operators standing by,
four easy payments
all major credit cards accepted
thirty days to examine in my home.
If not completely satisfied,
money back minus shipping & handing
would be the last straw
to break this camel's back !
How did he know?
My wife would be asleep
and couldn't stop me this time.
How did he know?
.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2013
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Mike Lef Poem
I look in a mirror and see the old man,
I was told was there from fourteen years old.
I’ve become my father,
eyeglasses in every room so as not to waste
precious time searching for them.
Newspaper and magazine articles stored in boxes
never to be looked at again.
Poetry thoughts, written on the backs of books,
scraps of paper, most times.
Unable to be deciphered even by me
once I get around to it.
I’ve become my father,
six pills a day, caffeine-free coffee,
egg substitute, unable to work, new gadgets,
rambling on, and on, and on.
Quietly waiting for death, of which
I’m not afraid of anymore.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2024
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Mike Lef Poem
When we're not fighting
in-between fights
we're loving each other
most of those nights
but when we start throwing
knocking things down.
It's best that you call first
before you come around
cause if caught in the middle
of one of our wars.
with the banging
slamming
and closing of doors.
You’re bound to get hurt
survivors are rare
though in-between fights.
It's like heaven here.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2011
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Mike Lef Poem
Ten after four in the AM. I wait for
my daughter’s death with a cup of coffee
at the kitchen table, thinking maybe
tonight’s the night.
She hasn’t been breathing well at all,
all day and tonight I fear just might be
her time.
Her oxygen concentrator is set at ten liters
the highest it’ll go.
Bringing oxygen up the staircase to her bedroom
through a tube to a nasal cannula in her nose.
Now and then it makes a funny squeaking sound
sort-of like a mouse crying out stuck on a glue trap.
I’d much rather write one more poem about those tattoos
she came home with all those years ago that pissed me off
to no end, but.
This is my life now, and like a true democrat, this poet
embraces.
Never let a good crisis go to waste, so I write this poem.
Copyright © Mike Lef | Year Posted 2024
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