by John Grey
When lovers argue
the air gets it in the neck
dreams are full of such crackling currency
but when I awake I can’t spend any of it
lost love is like eating alone
in a restaurant
sipping the last of the wine
while fish bones stare up at you
a statue is the last stop
on a long journey of made-up stuff –
this figure in marble
bears as much resemblance
to real flesh and bone
as a cushion does to a razor
there are no more stage villains –
nobody wears top hat and tails,
flicks their moustache
while tying women to railway tracks –
these days, it’s tee shirt and shorts,
a day’s growth around the chin
and a back of the hand
slapped hard against a woman’s cheekbone –
ah, Snidely Whiplash,
at least, the boos rained down on you
river’s frozen,
roads aren’t plowed,
can’t get out my front door
for the drifts –
War and Peace
this could be the day
of Chapter One Page One
I must have loved
a thousand women
and I ended up with one –
there are some instances
where math need not apply
there’s an article here
about this guy who found his wife in bed
with another man –
he divorced the wife
and married the man –
and then it’s on to the latest peace talks
for more irony
1 made a few phone calls
sent emails
even wrote a letter
but it’s the same old same old –
you still can’t go home again
my fingers look up from the keyboard
ask then why have you brought me here.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review, with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.