it was a case
of mistaken identity
they claimed
having kicked in the door
and taking away
the fat cat
I remember crying
afterwards
for two or three days
afraid next time
it would be me
they were coming for
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he was in the backseat
telling me how to drive
I recognized him
from social media
& the local news
I told him to shut up
but he kept blabbering
about the rights of
pedestrians
how the hell
did you get in here anyway
I shouted over his voice
I thought you died
a week ago saturday
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
bartender in the confessional
sampling bloody mary mixes
handing them to patrons
through the slider
back in the day they’d be
on their knees
self-medicating philosophers
hitting the streets
dabbling in theology
if you only saw
how competitive things
have become
perhaps you’d consider
coming out of retirement
recruit yourself
a dozen or so disciples
and see where things go
from there
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the girl in the barrio
listened to the radio
every night
keeping the volume
as low as possible
so as not awaken
the others
the music soft
and soothing
as smooth as her skin
glowing from
the shine of the moon
her emotions
ruled by a heart
destined to understand
life outside these walls
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the man on the street
carries a sign reading
the end is near
his hair past his shoulders
his beard twice as long
he is the living & breathing
symbol of the apocalypse
advertising what everyone knows
another mugging gone wrong
another massacre in a makeshift church
another death row inmate executed
by way of lethal injection
all examples actually disproving
what the canvassing prophet believes
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is a disconnect
between sublime living
and the reality of the day
so much so
even the planes
and helicopters overhead
produce background music
execution style killings
by thugs & gangs
are just as commonplace
as walks in the park
mother & daughter & child
enjoying the sunshine
unsuspectedly
in the marketplace
a man sells as is avocados
turning pennies into dollars
cross-training his
only surviving child
working & maintaining
chasing down their dream
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are always questions
and not enough prophets to push us
in slightly different directions
it’s the way it goes I suppose
a common phrase
complementing so many
circumstances
the only church downtown
morphed into a 24/7 shelter
hosting mic night
every sunday at noon
attracting seers of all sorts
propagating their doomsday
scenarios
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they come to the door
and ring the bell
they are the uninvited ones
I sit in the corner chair
off-white insulated curtains drawn
the bulb of the table lamp
barely buzzing
the brightless ones move on
but I suspect
they’ll return again
more capable of interaction
the next time around
turning off the light
I nod off in near silence
a dimly lit moon rising
whispering something sweet
into my ear
promising to awaken me
as always
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
inside my mind a tiny mouse
has found some cheese
nibbling but not offering
—he’ll be quiet for a while
perhaps falling into a stupor
and I will sit in silence
imagining what his eventual
next move will be
or if he’ll simply no longer exist
for obvious reasons
such as foxes or traps
or surgical strikes
—cast from the skies
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Let’s see
how shall we begin
to describe the fortunate son
It’s impossible they say
a trick question
the description itself but a
mystery
like who killed Marie Rogêt
In the end
there is no such thing
except for a brief moment in human
history
that maybe just maybe
he was the boy next door
voted mostly like to become
an unsolved serial killer
januarytwo thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was cool at the microbrew
vinyls playing on turntable
jazz & blues & some rock & roll
streaming from the speakers
hanging from the ceiling
they take requests
or you can bring your own
tracks piped into the adjacent room
imbibers waltzing & grooving
to the likes of anyone’s guess
they say it’s the place to be
as long as the lights are low
—the barrels all aflow
hands & feet shuffling in & out
of the [corner] revolving door
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’re back on the ground
having jumped out of
the little white aerocraft
at the break of dawn
at the same time
the sky was still falling
flaming rocks crashing
setting our very target on fire
we were unprepared
to reverse rappel
but that’s exactly what we did
outmaneuvering the fireballs
expertly escaping from hell
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Look what you’ve left behind
my friend
your stuff scattered
in places you’ve never been
having gotten there either by accident
or intentionally delivered
by loved ones still standing
Last night in my dream
you were alive
and never better
rounding up the troops
and shouting out marching orders
your famous last words
it’s now or never my friends
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody knew there would
be a test today
not even the teacher
a bomb threat forced them
to vacate the premises
and they set off on foot
to the amphitheater
on the west side of the
tree-lined river
it was there they exposed
their souls
one by one for some
others two by two
and even three by three
queried intensely
of life & death
in the end left to choose
either truth or dare
creativity had no limits
in what became
a sacred undertaking
where birds of different colors
sought the safety of the trees
experiencing the discomfort
of the tragedy
and the relief of the comedy
of the spoken word
filling the open air
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
At birth, I was cast into a flaming pit of scum forgotten by God.
— Mickey Knox
America the Beautiful
unaccepting of the past
such pride & prejudice
home to many haters
birthing mass murderers
one day at a time
Smoke & mirror history
gives way to a new reality
this twenty-first century
exposure & denial
run rampant on the streets
like Natural Born Killers
november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s no sense in testing the water
it’s the same as it’s ever been
every wednesday morning at nine
the city tests the loudspeaker system
one day it’ll prove itself to be futile
or utile —it’s funny how only time will tell
lenny kravitz sings about getting away
I tap my foot & chime in right out loud
replacing his simple words with mine
as if I’m some sort of ad lib junkie
knowing I’ve not a say in the matter
nor interested in wishing it all away
november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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