poetry

Sometimes I dusgust myself

poetry

I consider myself to be a normal boy
(perhaps even a normal man)
with normal likes and dislikes
(such as apple pie and country music),
but then I question all this
when I find myself liking the smell of my own farts
rating the quality of each I release.

oh sweet refuse, filling the air
byproduct of my own waste,
handiwork of my own bowels.

waiting for my inheritance

poetry

meek- lame
in the presence of strangers
i wander wondering
will I inherit this earth corner too?
what about the bird, the man, the stone,
the sieve and the sand
do I get them too?
a reward for all my awkwardness-
for laughing off
the absurdity of the
adult stranger sticking her tongue out at me in the streets, or the
friend’s endless babble about the pregnant shrimps he ate.

alone on benches waiting for trains

poetry

sit many,

silent spread out and waiting

to be taken the same place but not together.

hoping their train will soon arrive.

 

as children they’d sat near to mother afraid and close

holding her hand, small and wondering

not knowing where they were going.

some things never change

 

now, not brave, but bigger at least and used to being alone

or maybe just resigned.

hoping their train will soon arrive to take them away

 

on the train now, they all sit apart together, looking away

out the window, avoiding eye contact with all the other someones

outside a sign:

“Use caution when exiting the train.”

and then: 

“Please be mindful of children.  Please take them by the hand.”

Sound advice

as if hearing the pleas of the silent passing eyes.