Republished with permission of Midwest Poetry Review, 1997
Thoughts on Cloning Someday the labs will make routine The methods used to clone me. But when my own’s an irksome teen I fear I might disown me.
Anthropomorphism Two pigs copulate above The legend “Makin’ Bacon”; A lobster sports a chef’s cap, beckons with big red claw;
Drama 101 Belief in righteousness began the… Fanaticism breeds most violence: See Beowulf remove poor Grendel’s… To conquer (from his view) malevol…
A Funeral Cortege Verse now slain by latest dogma, down the cobbled street come mourn… trundling Verse’s coffin forward, charging all to note the corpus,
Get meat, a gobbet red and rank, something gamy from a back-street… ring with bits of pork and lots of… with herbs for accents eastern; and finally steep in a fishy stock
Savage Customs Dakota Indians placed a seed insi… The mouths of those they buried, a… A small but sturdy seedling gratif… The tribe, new life ascending from…
I am 88. I need much equipment: I need my walker so I can shuffle about, a lift chair to stuff me in the wa…
M. The Old Widower’s Effluvium His cachet evolves from subtleties… as he is groomed for an ever small… He doesn’t sweat for he cannot toi… so baths now seem superfluous,
They all seem old, with huge, bushy beards, their soiled rags incongruous in the sleek, polished chairs. Not allowed bundles
Domesticity The jelly cleaned off the worn lin… the laundry folded and put away, three children washed and bedded, Thelma kicks off her floppies,
The Futility of Action Our lives are sprawled in a meanin… where aims benevolent or evil, sel… eventuate in tortured remnants of… where Christ’s counsel of love to…
An Abomination* Ice-gleamed streets, sky an ebony… and a girl accordions her tiny car into the back of mine. She, carmine-streamed, head throug…
Levels of Innuendo The cosmos may contain a constella… That holds a jealous planet, one t… To hurt some stars with black insi… And smudge with covert smears thei…
The meter of this poem will be like ticks of a clock — no, I mean, ticks of clocks. On contemplation of my navel I see only what appears to be