Some New Poem Drafts... Comments Welcome
April Fool's Day
I would like to research
this holiday. Who
was the hapless fool who's
foolishness caused a
celebration in his honor?
Or could it have been
her honor? We all
have been fools, and been fooled,
and so know how it feels.
Who was this person
who's foolfulness transcended
the bounds of the average,
the mortal? I fear to look,
to find out: The fool is me.
First April Shower
Light April rain - almost
mist - falls with the sound
of a mis-tuned a.m. radio,
static of soft noise on
the asphalt, on the concrete.
It falls with a sshh...
like a shower in an open
bathroom three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are silent, if falls like static
electricity on the radio
in the shower three rooms away.
For a moment...
Light April rain - almost
mist - falls with the sight
of a mis-dialed analogue TV,
static of soft snow on
the screen, on the CRT.
It falls in black and white...
like a video tape run out
in a darkened den three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are still, it falls like static
electricity on the TV
in the den three rooms away,
For a moment...
Father
What I remember
about my father
is this: one afternoon,
it was spring or summer,
and he was on leave
from the iron-gray
floating dungeon fortress
that kept him prisoner
months on end,
which explains why
it was afternoon and not,
say, 0600 hours; why
he was shaving in his
bathroom in the afternoon;
also, possibly, why
he was drinking a beer
in an ice-cold glass
while he was shaving
in the middle
of the afternoon. That might
explain why, when
I wandered in, he lathered
shaving cream on my face,
shaved the peach
fuzz off my child's cheeks
and allowed me a sip
of his beer, which
I promptly spat in the sink.
Later, I found his razor
refills, sliced open two
fingers on my right hand,
and before calling for Mom to help,
watched the bright claret run,
watched it splatter like light April rain in
the bowl of the white porcelain sink.
I would like to research
this holiday. Who
was the hapless fool who's
foolishness caused a
celebration in his honor?
Or could it have been
her honor? We all
have been fools, and been fooled,
and so know how it feels.
Who was this person
who's foolfulness transcended
the bounds of the average,
the mortal? I fear to look,
to find out: The fool is me.
First April Shower
Light April rain - almost
mist - falls with the sound
of a mis-tuned a.m. radio,
static of soft noise on
the asphalt, on the concrete.
It falls with a sshh...
like a shower in an open
bathroom three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are silent, if falls like static
electricity on the radio
in the shower three rooms away.
For a moment...
Light April rain - almost
mist - falls with the sight
of a mis-dialed analogue TV,
static of soft snow on
the screen, on the CRT.
It falls in black and white...
like a video tape run out
in a darkened den three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are still, it falls like static
electricity on the TV
in the den three rooms away,
For a moment...
Father
What I remember
about my father
is this: one afternoon,
it was spring or summer,
and he was on leave
from the iron-gray
floating dungeon fortress
that kept him prisoner
months on end,
which explains why
it was afternoon and not,
say, 0600 hours; why
he was shaving in his
bathroom in the afternoon;
also, possibly, why
he was drinking a beer
in an ice-cold glass
while he was shaving
in the middle
of the afternoon. That might
explain why, when
I wandered in, he lathered
shaving cream on my face,
shaved the peach
fuzz off my child's cheeks
and allowed me a sip
of his beer, which
I promptly spat in the sink.
Later, I found his razor
refills, sliced open two
fingers on my right hand,
and before calling for Mom to help,
watched the bright claret run,
watched it splatter like light April rain in
the bowl of the white porcelain sink.
tags: Poetry,
Fiction,
Writing
posted by Eric Heald-Webb at 15:04
0 comments
