A Tub Poem
I was watching this poem float by
and thinking it was
painted by Van Gogh
I don’t know
Or was it the women
going to and fro
talking of Michelangelo
I don’t know
but what I do know
that there are no words
once the water
gets cold
and the words get old
Tied Down
I don’t wear ties anymore
but I have hundreds of them
hanging around
and when I die
I don’t want one on
Same thing goes for
these poems I’ve
been writing daily since
Ash Wednesday
and if this energy
creeps into another Lent
let me burn the ties
and the poems too
and then push me
towards the many books
that are collecting dust
especially those diaries
stacked not neatly
in the bowels
of the basement
cleanse me of my sins
and wash away my iniquities
after the fire amen
The Last War
For the last war
on planet earth
I don’t want to wear
a uniform
maybe just an
olive green tee shirt
in vogue these days
by a Jewish comedian
but of course
war is not a laughing matter
I want to be in a foxhole
with you
with shovels to dig
our trench deeper
so deep
that we’d be at the
opposite end of the world
I used to think that it would be China
but now I’m not sure
there’s a good possibility
we’d end up in the middle of the ocean
somewhere
we’d bring along
an inflatable raft
like the one used
in a James Bond movie
just in case
we’d be in it for the long haul
living on each other’s breath
not tiring of the work involved
knowing in advance
that we may be the
only two alive
to start something new