SHAHEED
his picture was pasted to the living room wall
the mother smiled with her daughter on the couch
Omar ate pita and chicken with Zatar
I stared at the 50 caliber machine gun holes
the mother smiled with her daughter on the couch
the Merkava tank gunned its engines, producing smoke
I stared at the 50 caliber machine gun holes
Omar said his brother was too young to blow up
the Merkava tank gunned its engines, producing smoke
a parakeet twittered by the kitchen door
Omar said his brother was too young to blow up
the mother was crying as her daughter sang
a parakeet twittered by the kitchen door
the soldier was coming up the stairs
the mother was crying as her daughter sang
he was young, about the same age
the soldier was coming up the stairs
a Tom and Jerry cartoon was going manic on TV
he was young, about the same age
we all watched the mouse smash the cat with a nailed club
his picture was pasted to the living room wall
¤ ¤ ¤
TEEN AGE
we had kittens
and large noble gas filled balloons
we would tie the balloons
with hemp twine
to the hind legs of each
kitten and release the completed
unit at sundown when the
sun bejeweled the balloons
we watched as
long as we could, drinking
beer, nor catching anyone's
eye
Above Quang Tri
just before harvest when
the light stuck to skin in
twilight and the ghosts breathe
we bring the kids up in a Huey
question them under the thump
of the rotor blades and
let them float to earth
loose feather, we
bed them down
give them peace
or a last vision of our finely
tuned hair, damp
with sweat
instead of dreams
¤ ¤ ¤
TAHOE CITY, JULY 94
Never looking up
the man with thick biker
boots, Airborne tattoo and yellow
legal pad un-kinks arms and cracks
knuckles, bends low to the table
dots top left corner of pad with red
felt marker, watched with pro-
fessional approval by white-haired
bearded drifter drinking Calistoga
mineral water on the Light House terrace
fire engines take route 89 to tree fire
Forest Service Air Marauder flies in low
with deep chortle, releases purple
retardant, bombing last flames
Safeway checker on break takes a good
look, lights her Camel
while tanker circles around
flies off low across Carnellian Bay
I remember a squadron delivering napalm
at Cao Yi Dong, cry as lobstered tourists
drip ice cream on well-protected lawn
¤ ¤ ¤
THE DEMANDS OF BREAKFAST
Perhaps I can tell
the cereal bowl to listen
as I spoon the toasted
shredded wheat
into my mouth,
gargle with extreme
depression, vanilla soy
milk and the thickening
banana chunks,
it's regular, the reaching
for implements of the morning
vitamin pills, slippers with little
yellow pompoms, I shuffle
and wink at my tousled
reflection in the bathroom
mirror, it takes two
to get us out the door,
sometimes when my
partner calls in sick
I end up wearing no
underwear or one tennis shoe
and one dress shoe,
while my face
is only shaven
in patches
usually the substitute
arrives late
or looks like a sumo
wrestler with tiny little eyes,
sometimes in the morning
the hardwood floors steam
my flannel sheeted bed rolls
over with a sigh,
dumping me into a swamp
of clothes and half-read novels
¤ ¤ ¤
MILITARY HISTORY
when they were exposed
there were creases, like chevrons,
on the side of her breasts
I suppose these protuberances
had time in
assumed a military bearing
were to be saluted
always at attention
the efficiency was compelling
these were breasts
the way God would have wanted them
if he were a man
or perhaps, these were breasts for the ages
the saline sacks found
with the bottom jaw
and a few ribs
ten thousand years into the future
the ceremonial rites
a conjuring of the spirit
the manner in which the queen
was anointed
the technology was stunning
the plastic sack still resilient and soft
like a leather flight jacket
or an India rubber ball
¤ ¤ ¤
OPEN READING
I wish he would spontaneously combust
a little puff of smoke interrupting
his 18th heroic couplet, "the mystery
of the universe" left dangling in
the sulphurous air
a swatch of singed black cloth
drifting to the floor
I want the four riders of the
apocalypse to thunder onto the stage
carry him off in little bits
rejection slips
in pink and yellow
fluttering like Monarch
butterflies
as they gallop past
I need his
broken metaphors
to escape
from the podium
run for the exits
leaving only fragrant
curses echoing
in our ears
the love of poetry is extruded
through my eyes
