December 2014
Before I drag my butt into work every morning, I sit in my car in parking lots—the only public places left that don't come with a soundtrack--and read poetry. Currently, I'm into Merrill Gilfillan, Steve Scafidi, Tom Clark and Tom Hennen. My new book of poems is Appalachian Night. It is available from me at no cost: just email chineseplums@gmail.com.
Long-Term Unemployed
In the park,
the wind is scattering birds
like Monopoly pieces swept
off the board, game
over.
Stevensburg, Virginia
I topped the knoll and saw them,
mourners at a grave.
A hayfield in October
lapped the little church.
Two seas:
one of grief,
one of absent hay
baled up like a fist
holding its secrets tight.
To a Dog from Guatemala Asleep in a Brooklyn Bar
Virgin Mother,
flick cigar-
brown eyes,
tell me
in a tongue
with no words
there are
no borders
and no strangers
in this bar
tonight,
just a few strays.
Middle Age
This line on my face is a river.
A villager stoops, hauls water.
His shoulders burn, if he’s lucky
he will carry it a long way.
-First appeared in The 2 River View
Mother and Teenage Son
They float from the Impala
to wait in line for burgers,
staring, not speaking,
improvising coolly
in the manner of Chet Baker,
purely in the blue
silence introducing
each halting note.
-First appeared in Barnstorm
©2014 Mark Jackley