at the rehearsal dinner father
decided on cornish game hen and
purple potatoes and string beans
everyone eventually figured out
how to get at the damn thing
either by word-of-mouth or
step-by-step instructions
as the servers cleared the tables
all I could think about was how we
used to smoke hash under glass
right there on his dining room table
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they put in sidewalks where there used to be grass
on the old side of town thanks to that penny tax
three whole blocks for three whole weeks
disrupting traffic and making everything ugly
heavy machinery and piles of dirt
candy corn pylons and cement trucks
men and women dressed fluorescently
an occasional open hand in my face
or arm motioning me to get on with my life
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you just don’t go out and become a cat
you have to wait for it
and wait and wait and wait
sometimes he never comes around
but if you wait long enough chances are
he’ll be knocking on your door
pleading for more treats
begging you to swap lives
other times nothing ever happens
and when you open the door
there is nothing but darkness
and undomesticated screams
eventually all the sounds subside
and you are lost in the zone
pretending to be in a deep sleep
two eyes blinking atop starlit dome
casually seducing your next precious life
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
alien boy sits on curb
waiting for night to fall
desirous of first star to appear
bringing back his smile
fast cars with one headlight
impersonate meteor showers
sweeping up passerbys
unable to pay the freight
it’s a million to one chance
but what else is there to do
besides singing the blues
or counting red cars
tomorrow’s hitchhiker
catapults away from superhighway
discovering alternatives to
hunger and desire and fear
there he learns falling out of grace
is not an option
nor dashing through the night sky
perhaps unseen
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
shortness of breath
I decide to hold it
pretending to be a child
cheeks expanding and reddening
eyes bulging like goldfish
it’s all you can do not to laugh
nonetheless there is much laughter
crescendoing and sad
easier than simply crying
surrendering to the crash
like a desperate goldfish
dying to breathe
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the story was supposed to have a twist at the end
but all it had were some half-baked ideas
and out-of-place exclamation points
and so he went back and reworked the narrative
thinking the story could be salvaged by removing
the exclamation points and replacing them
with a series of question marks
on the kitchen table was a round wicker basket
sometimes filled with bananas
other times apples or lemons and limes
maybe a super ripe avocado or mango
and then it hit him that the story had
nothing to do with punctuation
but rather uneaten fruit dying to be noticed
in someone else’s nondescript world
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
whispers in my ear
like a dream preceding sunrise
sweet murmurings making me smile
telling me to stay asleep
there is no place to go from here
other than up
and when I awaken I will go there
speeds exceeding
a million miles per hour
play me something relaxing baby
she sighs in these early hours
well before birds begin stirring
conjuring my innermost thoughts
blasting them beyond the treetops
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
squarish hole in middle of garden
is walled with various sizes of
rectangular-shaped stones
stones once used as steps leading
to abandoned gazebo atop the hill
but now separating earth from fire
sparrows and wrens tend to garden
while cardinals and jays perch in pines
all unafraid of smoldering hole
as long as night is far
patio blocks geometrically encase
black hole in summer garden
introducing spiral pathways
transgressing divergently in circular fashion
exposing and unfolding new life
suspended in color and contrasting light
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
know this day will come and you will
live in peace
be mindful of everything around you
and you will find peace within yourself
there is comfort within the forest of your soul
where trees grow tall and all the animals
on this earth live in harmony
you are the root and the tree and the leaf
the fruit that grows bright and fades
only to return season after season
you are mindful of all things around you
and you protect them when they need protecting
and comfort them when they are lonely
be in love with the morning sun
the noonday sun
and the setting sun
come to know the moon and you will know
yourself better than anyone
and by doing so
will come to understand there is a need
for all things living
there is peace in this day
just as there is peace in all the days that follow
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you’ve become much too tolerant
of these mind altering substances
beginning to think
placebos and near-death experiences
are all that you can take
that sunrise that has more colors
than one can possibly count
should be all
anyone would ever need
there’s no reason to keep
speaking of drugs yet to be discovered
ones that you prophesize
will allow the systematic cataloging
of every shade of red & yellow & orange
there must be good reason
why opioids and age-old whiskey
sit quietly by your side
whispering in your ear
how they are nothing but a panacea
waiting to happen
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
In the darkroom I develop images buried
somewhere in the second grade
Missus Munster was into rhymes and repetition
and her students were good at following instructions
I particularly enjoyed an occasional spelling bee
clearly recall how one time
one of the girls couldn’t answer
instead simply cried as she peed down her leg
Funny thing is I don’t remember anybody laughing
only Missus Munster whisking her off her feet
and straight out the door
I just sit there with my number two pencil and paper
remaking the scene into a black & white photograph
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
at what point will people tire of weekend sport events
wars in afghanistan and two for tuesday tacos
all these meaningless fights on the hill run
second fiddle to just about any dog and pony show
during my haircut the cosmetologist kept talking
about tax cuts and sexual harassment
and for a moment I thought I was participating
in some sort of candid camera episode
I’m going ice skating I say matter-of-factly after her rant
that is as soon as I get the hell out of this place
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
give me your palm she said
I want to read your lifeline
it hasn’t changed I said
it’s exactly the same as it was
12 new moons ago
I give her my left hand
and she is quick to remind me
there are tidal waves forming
there are always tidal waves
forming I try to explain
but I am abruptly shushed
softly asking to be trusted
I close my eyes and voluntarily
give her my other hand
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
everything enters and exits at its
own pace
like a whistle or
pool in a stream
sometimes people don’t notice
how complicated things have become
and recognizing their own presence
becomes a challenge
here take this it will calm your nerves
allow yourself to disappear into
alternative hours without constraints
put the pedal to the imaginary metal
and carve yourself new roads for
future generations to course through
there are these holes everywhere
holes in shirts and pants and bad advice
but you manage to dance around them
like a perfect farewell waltz
everything enters and exits at its
own pace
like a friendship or
speeding silver bullet
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was in the back seat of my father’s
big black lincoln continental
tooling down elm street
it must have been autumn because
I remember it being early evening
and it was completely dark outside
the car filled with a number of us
heading for an hour of CCD
I was feeling melancholy
but lucky to have a window seat
driving past dark house after dark house
doing at least thirty-five
and then I spot a boy laughing
his smile lighting up
corner kitchen window
seated tall at the table
his face lit up with joyous wonderment
while two adults lean toward his energy
smiling and laughing with him
and for the briefest of moments
I too was feeling happy
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the old table sits twelve with all the leaves in place
but we couldn’t find them all
we were only expecting eight or ten anyway
but by the time halftime arrived there were a couple
dozen mingling about the old farmhouse
when the beer and soda began to run low
we passed the hat and sent the twins into town
meanwhile all the men were kicked out of the kitchen
and a number of them went out back to start a fire
it was a cold but bright sunny day
and I heard some of the littles ones say
how wonderful it would be
if only it would snow on thanksgiving
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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