"We all take for granted the sanctity of a sneeze"
More Perihelion:
Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series
When I Miss Wearing a Diaper
We all take for granted the sanctity of a sneeze
See them? The bucket of friends, here, there, taken away from sleepovers,
Do you remember the smell of your mother,
those dirty diapers hanging like inquisition martyrs,
the dread quiet of illness, the soft teddy bears, dead brother?
Remember Aunt Lena, who asked god to unscrew a stuck pickle jar?
and the sorrow, the lost and found nature, of a raspy cough.
I am tiny when I see the murder of an elk, the disemboweled wheeze,
the final open-eyed terror, the horror of that one fat and human-like tear drop.
the sin of my dislike of black licorice and canned vegetables and family dinner,
and one day I see my friend's face on the milk carton here, there, on the kitchen table,
recycled and torn, on the playground, then garbage in a gutter
that embraces the cardboard liner.
So many questions for me then: like, why don't automobiles have gender,
and how can an inky pink octopus be so tough and look so tender?
_______________________________________________________________ One American Girl in Cork
This is either: one, a love poem. Two, me
thinking out loud. Bro, watch the rain come down
like some reminder of middling bartenders; wet
wet wet but no handouts and no house credit. I am
walking and drinking (mostly drinking) down
every fucking street inCork and look, there she
is, but no. She should be easy to find, this young
Floridian, this white orchid among purple wild
flowers. Blast! I must be drunk if I actually used
that metaphor. Look, let's be honest. What I am saying
here is this: I am lovesick in a strange town, I am very
horny (watch out little Miss O'Connor!) and damnit, can't
I just have a little bit of spunky sex? I know she
is out there somewhere, walking these same
cobbled streets with me. If I am very
lucky, I will find her alone and off her guard.
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