Poetry Here (Mostly)

Archive for September, 2013

The Price of Lint #239

Soon our money will be spent

fixing up our drier vent.

Thought that Sears could do the job,

but they’re just a high-priced mob.


I think the clothesline’s good enough

unfailing sun dries all our stuff.

He wants bath towels extra soft,

they’re too rough when hung aloft.


Received another estimate,

more fair than the one Sears sent.

Still, they need to break a wall,

pipe to the roof and that’s not all.


From the line a bird takes wing,

that’s where I still hang our things.

Lawn and sky comply with codes,

natural vents for washer loads.

Bells (#237)

The sizzling boulevard climbed and where

it daled, I waited for a downtown 1.

Shielded by beige hat and cheap sunglasses,

I unfolded my number’s bus schedule,

read, folded, then unfolded it again,

took refuge in its printed promises.


Mad dragon, August, unreasonably

blasted the bus stop’s bench un-seatable.

No oasis in the desert blue sky,

but in cement-rooted neighborhood,

a maturing tree in a square-cut bed

cast a small shadow over the sidewalk.


A younger woman and I shared thin shade,

communicated with our quiet smiles.

Blessed Sacrament bells soon counted ten.

Steepled keepers of our precious hours,

ringing time awakened our memories.

Her voice tolled with childhood recollections.


“In my country, I grew up on a farm

where only the village church bells kept us

informed of the day’s hourly progress.

A clock was a rich person’s luxury,

but the bells were enough for most of us,

they used to tell me when to go to school.”


I chimed in about Sundays in Brooklyn

when insistent bells commanded our Mass

attendance, early, mid-morning, or late.

Then, services and priests were plentiful

and Catholics feared and felt obligated

to obey our so-called Mother, the Church.


The bus came after we’d exchanged stories.

One after the other we showed passes

that passengers, who ride often, purchase.

Then, as if we’d had no conversation,

and bells had not rung in old times, we sat

ourselves apart and never spoke again.

Tag Cloud