Fidelito

Fidelito was from Havana

a burley man with a bushy mustache.

Fidelito worked in Queens for a small time hood named Whitey

It wasn’t always that way

He once was a baseball state in Cuba

a Pitcher

Left Cuba on a raft to play American baseball

Triple A minors in South Dakota

South Dakotas didn’t like Cubans,

even Cubans who could play baseball

So he gave up baseball

moved in with his sister

who got him a job dealing cards in

illegal games in the back of

flower shops and mortuaries

Fidelito missed Havana

he would go to Cuban movies in Spanish Harlem

and weep for Cuba

Fidelito signed up for the bay of pigs

but decided to forgo the heroism a make love instead

Lupita was from Guantanamo

and she tasted like Cuba

He rushed her without

cover and took her without

revolutions her body surrendering

as Kennedy sneaked into the room apologizing

Fidielto slept dreaming of

Summer the crack of hot wood

sweet sugar cane sweat

and the roar of the workers

their faces smiling as he rounds third

and Fidel rolls over in his bed

and Cuba falls into the sea.

Advertisements

Canaries

An old man sits

Dry as a moth motionless

except

for the small clean fast blinking of

his eyes

Sending Morse code dot dot dot dash dash dot

A record plays

it plays bird songs

Canaries, Lovebirds, and Starlings.

“Grandpa, why do you have records of birds?”

“To get lonely birds to sing.”

Round and round the room

Bird song 33 Rpm’s on an

LP

LP= Long play 32 minutes repeat

Auto-Matic-Ally

Birds die while

Records go round and round and round

The old man sits motionless

except

for one clean perfect flash of yellow

in the white moth like flutter of his eyes.

 

Mother’s Day Poem

For Linnea

O’ weaver of light and play

Setting sail with our two boys

Where you are captain and they

are crew.

Off you go

on dandelion tufts

telling stories of two young princes

and fortune telling daisies made

for just for today

 

One petal, two petal, three petal, four.

You love me,

you love me more,

you love me,

you love me more!

 

O‘ teller of stories

and writer of plays

writing plays

’bout robots,

thunderstorms

and magical daylight moon dancers

 

O’ How I love you!

More! More! More!

 

You, our choreographer

of moments remembered –

 

like the three of you dancing

in the rain

splash splash giggle giggle-

More more more!

 

Now all three of you in the tub

Splash, splash, giggle, giggle –

More more more!

 

O’ weaver of light and play

Our two you princes  have come to rest

in the harbor of your body

Stranded on the couch you look up at me and smile.

And all is right in the world.

 

 

 

The Last Episode of The Lone Ranger

Tanto, he writes,

Things are not as they used to be.
I am as useless as an Iron Lung.

Riding around in his Ford Pinto
The Lone Ranger looks for anything
To do − the one working headlight
Finding vultures on the side

Of the road.
Driving through the night
Scanning the radio for WXYZ

This long prairie night of his soul.
Finding no one to save
He buys a whore with a case of silver bullets.

She holds him like a little boy
Rocks him back and forth.

They don’t have sex.

He cries in her arms,
“I’m a man in a boy’s costume,”
“I am a jaw bone at a Wedding.”

Later that evening
The Lone Ranger writes another letter

Dear Tanto,

Things are not as they used to be.
I am as useless as mouth without teeth.
I wish you were here.

Sincerely, Lone.

At Sea

I fall asleep with you and wake
Up in the middle of the night holding

A whalebone. The bedroom
Floor has turned into a blue-black
Sea, where mermaids with
Sharp faces and angry

Mouths sing to me.
The song does not comfort

And the tune is off key.
I lie back down and

The same sea sinks into
My head. Where the bell of a buoy

Rings a strange clanging
Reminding me of your name.

So I listen hard, trying to find
You. The salt in my eyes making

It is hard to see. I fall back asleep dreaming
Of deep water, and the light

above

me fading.

Oh her…

Her eyes are like the mouth of a gun
and its cold blue bang and I am wounded
and I bleed like a run over Dog.

and her lips…

Her lips are the quivering Meat
of a heart And I am ravenous. I wander
digging in knocked over trashcans.

and her hands…

Her hands are like the bite of Vise
Grips™  She clamps my mouth shut
And I am silent.
I am silent as she cuts me.

and her body…
.
Her body is like a shipwreck
run aground. The tide teasing me
like the pulse of a lover. I am drowning
Slowly, Slowly like a fish on a bed

Of blood red Coral
She swims away
from me her hair
like the wake

of shark, trailing behind.

The Economy of Love

The contradictions of love.
The contradictions of strength. e.g. exempli gratia

For example, iron versus spider silk. ( Misconception )
Surface thoughts nothing more. ( Pre-conception)

To settle: to stop searching {macro}
To settle down: To start living ===attention to detail. (micro)
To settle: To give up?
To Let go.
Opportunity costs = give this up for that,

“What am I worth to her?”
Economy / Exchange
Market pressure.

The invisible hand
Of a divisible God.
Quid Pro Quo = this for that.
Short changed=Jipped, Jewed.

I sold a cow
for a bag
of magical beans

and she is angry
and doesn’t understand.

She gives me coal
I give her back diamonds.
My hands bloody from
Parlor Tricks.

Slight of Hand = She loves me
She loves me not.

Opportunity costs and the
Point of diminishing returns.

Today is Black Monday
The great crash
Men jumping out of windows

like

lead

love-birds

It’s 1929 again
The beginning of the great depression.