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[Sudden
Irrelevance] [Past the Tree Limb Graveyard]
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Sudden
Irrelevance |
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Look at me!
I feel stupid,
song drunk,
guitar in hand
sitting
the harbor stage
empty, except
for the gulls.
I can hear their voices,
they squawk between bars,
The boy is crazy,
calling for a mate
alone in the fifth row,
but they like the chorus
and join in the pleasure.
The wind swirls Dairy Queen
wrappers, used napkins;
tips a half-full,
half-empty, styrofoam
coffee cup.
The gulls donšt know me
well, and they are poor
tippers.
I send my voice out to sea
in search of a burning bush.
The dolphins are laughing,
dancing with my echo.
At the top of the harbor
observation tower
young lovers kiss
and toss bread
into the wing beaten air.
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Past the Tree Limb Graveyard
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In the bottle stained with the small deaths
of roaches, two inches of whisky remain
for consumption, conversation, the repeated story
of a pants leg, folded and pinned to the hip,
crutches.
As kids, Paul and I played chase games
even after dark. Once he led me
through the Niemanšs yard
and laughed when the clothes line
tore into the bridge of my nose,
my cheeks bones, and left me cold on the ground.
"I love him," the waitress confides to me,
while Paul is away to piss, "but I can
get no closer than this booth." She departs
to collect empties from another table.
We were track stars together; me,
the hyper-anxious, neurotic sprinter,
him covering great distance
in leg-killing times.
Smoke from this joint curls
in the heated air of the candle,
brings the dead back to his eyes,
for a moment shoulders tensed,
then he relaxes through the familiar
motion of pouring another shot.
There is a race coming up, a 5-K.
"Baby Bear." Paul says. Which means, "Just right."
He has an athletic prosthesis to try out,
the dream of distant marathons and glory
he may soon chase skirts again. |
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KENNETH
P. GURNEY lives west of Port Angeles where he enjoys being between the
mountains and the ocean. Some years he is a poet who works at a
bookstore. Other years he is a bookstore clerk who writes poetry.
He is the editor of a poetry web site,