Mark Lucker – Page 4 – The Poetry Marathon

City life

If you listen closely late at night
the sounds of the city
become ever more clear
traffic noise, road hum
sirens distant –
and not so distant
squealing tires –
cars racing
too-fast trucks
pitter-patter of raccoon claws
on alley concrete
squeal of train wheels
screeching hawks
occasional owls
unsteady footsteps of a
neighbor, returning
from some sort of revelry
a kaleidoscope of
aural enlightenment

Beyond scared

I have never really feared monsters
boogeymen in closets
demented clowns
things from other dimensions

Meh.

I grew up in the 1960s watching
50s B movies
Karloff, Lugosi epics saw
Godzilla as cute, not menacing

Fun

Now in my sixth decade I do
believe in monsters
they wear suits
don’t like us very much, they lie

Truth.

The real monsters slop from TV
like the blob
grotesque, like
the radiation scarred mad doctor

Yeah.

The monsters – the real threats –
walk among us
not as zombies – those would
just be us, who made the monsters

Sartorial

My neighbor’s dachshund
bulky hamburger costume;
why not? Dogs’ German

Reconciliation

Paul Bunyan and Johnny Appleseed
had agreed to mediation
their relationship as iconic legends
frayed, upsetting their fans

“I plant trees and you chop them down!”
“I do nothing of the sort, Johnny!
I harvest timber! Apple wood is no good!”
thundered Paul, while Johnny eyed him

“Then who is cutting down my apple trees?”
Johnny was inquisitive, not accusatory.
“I don’t know” said Paul, softly ‘Not us.”
The mediator watched each of them

“You are known for felling large forests”
said Johnny, softly. “I heard you cut it all.”
Paul leaned in toward Johnny. “That is not true.
I cut timber…and I love to eat fresh apples!”

Johnny Appleseed started to chuckle
“I guess that makes sense. Apple trees are
scrawny – but the fruit is tasty!”
He stuck out his hand, Paul accepted.

The two men stood, shook hands
started for the door. “You know, John –
If some apple trees come down in a storm
I hear they make great bacon smoke!”

The mediator opened their file, simply
writing “Satisfactory conclusion”
before throwing the folder onto his desk
before heading for the door himself.

Remembering words his grandma said
‘Don’t be afraid to go out on a limb.
That’s where the fruit is.”

Because we will not be denied

As always, we move forward
obstacles are always there, always will be
we go over, through, or around them

Tell us no – someone always does –
tell them in no uncertain terms your ‘YES’
what is at stake here is you, yourself

You are not alone – they think they
have the numbers but they never do – the
moral arc bends toward justice

You are not wrong, they do not own
righteousness – except when it comes to their
hyphenated ‘self’ variety

They do not own you. You own you.
They do not dictate what is not theirs to bear
Where do we go? Forward. Now.

Defined me

There have been times in my life
I have certainly lusted
appropriately, and not

semantically, literally, morally
my lustful natures have
taken many forms

any theologian, of any
dogmatic stripe
will tell you lust is a
perennial top-ten fave
for adherents and
best-seller for clergy
many a preacher has
made his bones
railing against his flock
jumping someone else’s
There have been times in my life
I have certainly lusted
appropriately, and not

I could recite you a list – names,
places, circumstances
consequences, results

any theologian, of any
dogmatic stripe
could find fault
with my logic
non-apologetics
but hey I’m not
writing scripture
I’m just a poet
railing against nothing
simply stating fact

There have been times in my life
when lust for life has
moved to do good

Call it craving, enthusiasm – eager
I have been, eager I
will remain in my lust for keeping on

The dulling of the card sharps

The Wednesday night crowd
around the big table
center of the brewery beer hall
was middle-aged men
boisterously playing cards
trash-talking
howling with delight at
winning hands
or someone missing a bet, bid
the beer, the game
was all flowing
we were living
semi-vicariously
two-tables away

As we got up to leave
I passed the big table just as a
hand was being
closed out
another dealt
curious as to what variant
five-card
seven-card
Texas hold-on…..

My companion and I
did a double take at the cards
being dealt
this was no stud game
no croupier riding herd on this
rousing game of
Point Salad
noted, per the game website
as a game where players
‘Collect groupings of fruits
and vegetables – with
loads of ways
to score points’

Head-scratching, we left
pondering
what we had seen
concluding
with some logic that
considering the demographic
its not a huge step
from discussing dietary
roughage
to a little rough-and-tumble
gambling with it.

Gentle reminders

My grandfather had a deep,
rumbling way of chucking
that came from deep within
at things he found amusing –
me, mostly.

Originating in a large belly
promulgated by years
of jovial beer drinking
his chortle still echoes

When he was amused
my grandfather’s best friend
had what can be described
as a cackle– a raspy whisp
honed by unfiltered Camels
and years of oil-paint fumes

He was an easy man to amuse
and I accomplished the trick
consistently, especially when the
joke was on my grandfather

Practical, immigrant men who
saw humor in the foibles of daily life
who taught me how to be in
on the joke, and on top of the joke
much of the fun was simply
in hearing them laugh

Both of them long since gone
I see things that I know they would
find absurd, or amusing and I
can hear them both guffawing in
their own unique ways and I
often find it funny that is their
merriment that still amuses me.

Mýthos

I woman I knew once caught a talking frog
So she said.
The frog – leopard variety – large, green
Not only spoke
but could read
preferring Studs Terkel
Rhetorically asking the frog what would happen
if she kissed him
he replied ‘nothing’
Curiosity piqued, she asked what good there was
in a talking frog
who could read?
The frog in response asked “What good is a prince?”
“Good point.”
replied my friend
“That ‘kiss me and I turn into a prince’ stuff in bullshit”
Said the frog
“Really?”
“Frogs” he explained, ”Are far more egalitarian, mostly.”
“Mostly 9-to-5”
“Frogs?”
“Yes” he told her, “The royalty crap is mostly myth.”
“Mostly?”
“Mostly. And there is no moral to my story, either.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Frogs generally prefer discussing work ethic.”

Inner child, fed

There is a danger when I am home alone
and spy a carton of eggs
when opening the refrigerator door
even moreso if there is also
bread in the breadbox
and then if a saucepan is clean
I can hard-boil some of those eggs
while in another clean pan
I can heat butter, milk, flour,
salt and pepper – heavy pepper
into smooth, creamy white sauce
while the eggs boil
the bread settles into
the toaster
all returning me to
culinary Nirvana of my childhood
sliced, warm, hard-boiled eggs
on buttered toast
cozily smothered in
a blanket of cozy white sauce
a meal kings would kill for
all my psychological
and cholesterol needs sated

And for a few minutes
G-d is in heaven
all is right with the world…

unless my cardiologist
reads this.