Jorge Davis
The Obstructionist
I sat there holding, and rubbing
my larynx, trying perhaps to find a word in there. But something shut me down. And the word lay trapped. And they began to pile up. All the while this extraordinary woman kept looking at me; kicking the table leg with her biker boots (and I know this because I have a pair just like them: sexy.) And the vibrations originating from those leather boots only exacerbated my condition. And she grew frustrated, and left; left me there, rubbing my larynx and wondering what a doctor would say: You will need immediate surgery; to remove that middle finger lodged in your throat, by the ex The Moment People
to the moment people
a second could be a second or a day and the minute a minute or a decade and watches are of little use though they decorate the wrist of the moment people the big hand rarely moving and sometimes it moves backward on occasion the moment people defy more logic: back arched eyes sealed tight the hands probing and yanking contorting the flesh in the darkness the skin sees all the mouth swallows the last of the light and shadows slice through time ∞ in this space you don’t have to die if you don’t want to My favorite soldier
He walks like a child,
gimpy down back country road up main street downtown, right into a mall Private first class so and so Sergeant Rock Captain, America Aye aye sir -------who aaahhhhh Airborne, leads the way (But I am a mountain man, the Golden Dragon from New/ York). A grown man weeping just because a plate in his head clicked on sensors to the heart Remember, gimpy ass forgotten toy soldiers? I used to play with them as a kid... and he, my favorite soldier because he got prodded down supermarket aisle eight and into delicious exotic frag-bazaars flowing over with ancient humanity would now find himself eyeing the fresh fruit of the farmer’s labor grown right from the banks of the Euphrates when just then he heard nothing but saw only white light and felt the strange sensation of his body floating into mid-air and when his torso (minus his limbs) finally fell thump onto the scorched earth he felt, a fine mist of warm American/Arab blood settle on his face and he could taste the iron- ny of it all, and remembered how his mother (in the spring) would take him by the hand every morning for walks along Crystal Beach and the thick fog would moisten his face and dampen his hair and he could taste the salt and the irony there too and tighter still he’d hold his mother’s hand for fear of losing his footing and falling into the cold lake and drowning.... I tell myself that he died that day because he was young because he loved because you always hold the right of the line. It is what we tell ourselves. In honor of Sgt. Jason C. Denfrund, Bravo Company 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment/ 2nd Brigade Combat team, 10th Mountain Division Died on patrol in Baghdad, Christmas Day, 2006 |
public transportation poetrylady in a wheel chair
lady in a wheel chair rolls up & pointing to the pink apartments behind us says: “i lives over dare, can you rolls me cross da street?” the thing about public transportation is it makes you face people, clark & artesia i’ve walked this far to help this lady to the liquor store for cigarettes & when i rolled her back & took my place on the bench under the shade of a small tree she thanked me i told her not to smoke in bed bourgeois i walked up to the driver: “where does your route end?” “downtown, broadway at the metro.” i take my seat and watch two teen lovers pressed against the window gazing, at a fast blue car last stop broadway & the metro, i thank the driver & am let out into the cold shadow of the chase building i start walking toward the sun Gray Wool
I stand stark naked raving mad; he
stands there, kind; while I rant on about the previous evenings injustices, possessed angrily by my own demons of self- righteousness…. I half-expect my roommate to gather up his belongings one day while I sleep, and leave; he has every right you know to do so I who don’t do well in the calm moment--- need and make passion wherever I can…. But my roommate stands there like a saint, or a monk, and listens; he, who small in physical stature I fear my explosions will one-day--- knock him over; over whelm him. But patiently he waits for me to finish, then quietly he leaves the room, ---to only return wearing an Italian made suit that he recently bought, and just arrived from Italy … He lets me feel the quality; of the fabric the craftsmanship the sharp lines perfectly tailored; Refined. So beautiful a suit that my anger becomes lost against the softness of gray wool…. My friend Josh knows me better than anyone. Fernie Do You Remember?
Fernie do you remember?
that brown bully gangster with his black henchmen?--- they seemed eight-feet tall to us Mar---teen, was the gangster’s name the cousin of Ingrid and Bella and we loved, Ingrid and Bella Mar---teen the gangster--- with his long greasy black hair pulled tight---into a mamba like slithering, pony tail And where did he find those crispy white tee/shirts? that draped his enormous body--- like the stiffest whitest circus tent you ever saw And his android-like henchmen had a dress code too, dress like Mar/teen And when that black Buick Regal with those shiny spoked wheels and peeling tinted windows--- pulled up did you know it was the gangster Marteen?--- and his muscle? all squeezing out that car And before we took that beating that splintered my ribs and pierced my lung--- that beating that closed your eyes and snapped your arm Fernie do you remember what you said? Chest all puffed out we stood our ground Do you remember that day? how to me, you stood Ten feet tall Tom Long
She isn’t going to do porn,
so she’s your bartender. You order a drink Strong. And that faux blonde who pays you no mind takes your money and puts it in the jukebox.
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