four a.m.
I've been with you since the collapse
when the earthquake shook up the dust
and we were intimate
since the sirens went off
your alarm clock scattered
your eyes, shades of gray
behind a morning cup of coffee
blade of grass shaking off the dew
gasping for breath
I've been with you since we fell apart
melted in a flash flood
while our bodies caved in
blending colors and shades
as you stumble out of bed
as I mumble weary nonsense
somehow I know we'll be okay
but now, I'm lying here
in the cold sweat of a nightmare
and you're gone
mission bells
laughing like hyenas
in New York City bones
filing cabinet homes
painting with our fingers
spare hand on the trigger
guns under our chins
and we're at war, I'm told
laser-guided altar boys
who didn't say their prayers
bodies in the freezer
pockets full of paper trails
salted pork and liquid nails
they slap around a shuttlecock
and we're at war, I'm told
with someone old and someone new
and they still play our song
pots boiling over
spitting like a Brooklyn Dodger
no one gives a damn
lovers dancing by the stove
and we're at war, I'm told
barflies sucking cigarettes
pissing on the floor
chasing carrots on a string
crawling through the desert streets
with opiates and shells
swearing loud as mission bells
and we're at war, I'm told
hiding in the sewer pipes
or bunkers underground
rats the size of alligators
protesters are bored and tired
the devil's chin is curved
we've been at war since god was born
and no one knows what for
japan
sleeplessness has struck again
but I won't make a sound
our apartment's small
I've kept her up late
she deserves a good sleep
without me tinkering around
she likes having me in bed with her
and I like being there
but my mind is like a speed train
my pen's down the hall
so for now, I'll lie awake and
let my thoughts go to waste
ghost waltz
she's dancing on the ceiling
as I'm lying here awake
the city's still in motion
running from a little bit of rain
she's getting dressed and running late
I'm stumbling half-asleep
she takes the time for one more kiss
and runs out in the haze
I close the door, turn the corner,
fall back into bed
still I close my eyes and see
Naomi in a ribbon blue dress
she's dancing on the ceiling
as I'm lying here awake
she's working early in the morning
I've been working late
it still rains when we're in love
sometimes we sleep alone
'cause I'll be getting up to leave
when she'll be coming home
Argyle
thinking about the lady in argyle socks
blue and gray knee-highs
scoop-necked tee
planetary earrings dangling like wind chimes
rose garden inked around her wrist
her hands, nimble and precise
eyes filled with quiet fire
facing the bathroom mirror
sleeves rolled up, leaning to one side
she looks ready for a fight
she strides into the bedroom
undressing piece by piece
stepping over cats in the doorway
I feel clumsy and invisible
typing by myself in the corner
this time of night, the cats go feral
as the dryer squeaks and clanks and bangs
and ticks and whirrs and hums
somewhere in the racket
she'll fall asleep and dream
I'll stay awake and stare
chester's box
planes running into buildings
Michael Jackson dead at fifty
old newspapers
here you sit
ten inches higher than
the rest of your world
surveying the room
eyes of jaundice yellow
voice of a field mouse
chirping on a throne
of memorabilia
you're invincible, right?
but ever so cautious
they watch you with daggers
hidden in their palms
scheming and crawling on all fours
but there you reign
a king, nonetheless
over the tiniest kingdom in the room
Stim City
rats making music
in the bones of every neighborhood
windows stacked like gravy biscuits
slide right into the street
traffic made of modern art
streaks by into oblivion
buildings reek of dollar bills
and gothic architecture
tenants fill the marble floors
poured out of a box of crackers
wriggling around in a hornets' nest
of meter-hungry cabbies
rain doesn't care to discriminate
it opens fire on everyone
in leather hats and shoes and coats
and uniform umbrellas
pipes empty out like gutted fish
bubbling up the storm drains
I kick the doors in their teeth
and laugh as I walk
into the barrel of a smoking gun
seven poems
here I go again
mumbling something
about rats hungry for crumbs
folding clothes for job interviews
ticking away like a nautical mine
flipping like a dolphin
in a game of solitaire
reading office-based humor
even though I don't work in one
typing structureless phrases
I've written seven poems tonight
what have you been doing?
living a life, I guess
the laredo
for a long, hot summer
I lived in my jeep
with bronchitis—
eventually pneumonia
I worked in the dirt
digging holes, laying concrete
in my only pair of jeans
ripped at the crotch
cold sweats after dark
blankets didn't help
cops always knocking
on the windows
never knew where to park
so I hardly ever slept
told folks I was staying
at The Laredo
I don't need another stanza
to make the point I'm making:
never call the fucking cops
on someone sleeping
sea of tranquility
she's beautiful and distant
as the sea of tranquility
drifting through some weary dream
draped over the edge of the bed
like a hanging garden
I toss and turn
ransacking the sheets
trying to find some sleep
still hidden there
she breathes like rainfall
steady, calm, and soothing
I'm begging for the weather
never to break
thirty cops
shoulder to shoulder
in a strip mall lot
around a floodlit deer on her forelegs
backed against a chainlink fence
where she staggered to rest
having crashed into a vacant minivan
thirty cops meander
ping-ponging between patrol cars
squawking radios, intermittent chatter
how many does it take?
animal control arrives
shoulders a plain hunting rifle
fires once between her glowing, fearful eyes
she springs from the grass
sprints a semicircle, then drops dead
hoisted by her legs into a pickup
one of us will take her home, cut her into steaks
and thirty cops just earned
an hour's pay
New York City Bones
ISBN: 978-1-62258-000-2
LCCN: 2012938047
© Tim Becker, 2012
Chapters: 4 (24-25 poems)
Poems: 97
Pages: 160
Words: 11,412