I sometimes imagine
what the fall of america
will be like and wonder
what similarities its cities will share
with the likes of sparta and pompeii
delphi and olympia
tikal and memphis
I imagine the people will flee
from the cities and find
a much simpler life
free from the burden
of a bigoted government
learning to live a new way
peacefully within its own means
may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
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in the middle of the afternoon
the lights went out in the city
and all the people
filed out into the street from the skyscrapers
and candy stores
and barber shops
and taverns
quiet as kindergarteners on a fire drill
it was like the calm before the storm
as the full moon
performed its magic
only this time
as it slowly penetrated into the light
it was shot down
by a thousand arrows
launched from within the earth
march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
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when a rabbit moved in next door
and started posting personal ads
about wanting to have kits
i just knew it was time to move on
i didn’t want to meet him
so i stayed inside
and instead spied
through various windows
up and down the split foyer
his mail order bride
arrived via yellow cab
and sauntered up the walk
leading to the front door
confetti raining down
from a second story dormer
it doesn’t take long
for the little ones to mature
once born into their
new home blind and naked
and helpless
and before you know it
babies are hopping everywhere
and not any backyard fence
will keep them at bay
years after getting the hell out of there
i heard it didn’t take much longer
before the entire neighborhood
evolved into a gangland
patrolled by killer bunnies
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we ventured out into the wilderness
and manipulated pieces of steel
with nuts and bolts
using handmade tools and human ingenuity
assembling giant creatures
ten stories tall
with ravenous appetites
plunging them headlong
deep into the earth
where they feed on subterranean elements
and spew their wasteful byproducts
out into the troposphere
for clouds to absorb
and recycle as violent weather
bombing war-torn cities
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for centuries the sloping hill
produced a bouquet of artistry
sewn into the grass
and handpicked by flower children
an annual blizzard blanketed
the hill and invited participants
to hasten up and down
using any means possible
as the city slowly crawled outward
leaving concrete in its wake
the sloping hill cried
shaking and moaning and hurting
the forward motion gradually
violated the internal integrity
of her existence
until one day without warning
she simply
sailed away
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for centuries the survivors
of the forgotten world
journeyed to the ancient city
to marvel at the concrete
and glass that once gave rise
to an infallible dream
unable to imagine
such destructive forces
the children picked wildflowers
growing from the ash
waving them in the air
pretending to surrender
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she hadn’t seen the light
of day in a week and the
only voice she ever heard
made her physically ill
the man inside her head
said she had better live
so she obeyed
and prayed
for real-time changes
negotiated agreements
led to predetermined exchanges
between skin
and gold
december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in a desperate attempt
to regain my focus
i found myself
walking the streets
of the city
for days on end
buying random thoughts
from ordinary people
in hopes of curing
the quiet desperation
of an idle mind
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I jumped off a boxcar
in downtown Kansas City
made my way
to 18th and Vine
where Satchel Paige
pitched a complete game
at Blues Stadium
With just enough dough
for two quarts of Colt 45
and Cracker Jack
I basked in the sun
keeping score and
losing my voice cheering
on the Monarchs
Down to my last nickel
I walk toward the whistle
cold and sober
tired and hungry
needing to steal a ride
and a good night’s sleep
back to Chicago
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
flatfooted on the edge
of a supersized
new york city highrise
i calmly stand tall
like an olympian diver
slowly rising to her toes
before falling into twisted
recollections of fetal positions
and outstretched arms
a trail of shuttering thumbnails
racing faster and faster
until forever buried
below the water’s wake
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I merge onto route one
around midnight
a cup of coffee
shaking in my hand
another placed
in the holder
in the back seat
my darling exhales angrily
pleading with baby
and begging the lord
to give us more time
I race past the limit
chasing the new moon
and hugging the white line
laughing at the thought
I’m a daddy any minute
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
What goes on down here sometimes doesn’t make sense;
seems we’re all running around doing a bunch of nothing,
like buying Gold or picking up a 30 pack on the way home.
Just about everyone’s got an agenda these days;
some like to push theirs where they don’t belong,
others keep them propped to their ear when behind the wheel,
while the silent majority keep it to themselves
like it’s some big secret.
Everything is so plugged in that when the electricity fails
chains of events lead to even bigger headlines
such as “Man loses dog.”
Now that we number seven billion it’s high time
we call back Einstein, maybe even Darwin,
ask them to figure out how to get out of this mess
before something really serious happens.
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i road my bike around the city
because i had nothing better
to do. i freed my mind and told
myself i could do this
even at my advanced age.
getting out of the valley was a bitch
but i shifted into the lowest gear
and pretended i was walking
down a flattened hill.
by the time i reached the river
i gave my bicycle to a little boy
and took a taxi home.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The lights on the other side
of the city come in many
shades of gray
or so he told his daughter
driving in from the country
Over time she realized
the colors changed
with the seasons
one day telling her Daddy
she was smarter than boys
When she packed her bags
and waved goodbye
from the moving train
he just smiled knowing
she’d finished her homework
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Inside the city thousands converge
on the open market regardless the weather
The allure is captured in historical relevance
where honest exchanges of trade and art
played out for centuries with civility
At the center of the square an acting troupe
dressed as traditional chess pieces
reenact the ‘56 match between Byrne and Fischer
the characters moving on the checkered stage
as commanded by the intelligentsia
Relaxing on a bench I breath in the city’s past
contemplate how its future could possibly change
A block away a string quartet starts in on Mozart
compelling me to walk among the people
and toward yesterday’s perfection
april, two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Plants thrive incredibly
inside their shack.
Without money
education
opportunity
they defy logic.
Is it magic
or are the cultivators
blessed?
How does such a model
of poverty
get by with just botany?
They say it’s a matter
of relativity.
The neighbors
ashamed
of the eyesore
still marvel at their craft.
nineteen eighty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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