Poems
by John Grey
Vocabulary
The word is on the tip of my tongue
but Im reluctant to say it.
Its a long word of five syllables
and my tongue-tip is having
a difficult time balancing the damn thing.
It is the word that sums up succinctly
the point I want to make.
But, if I utter it, I fear I will come across
as arrogant, a showoff, an elitist.
So I keep my mouth shut
and think it instead.
A little voice in the back of my brain snarls,
You arrogant, showoff, elitist bastard.
Crossing The Plains
He slowed up
to pass through a small town
and a woman
hanging laundry in the breeze
waved to him.
She had no idea who he was,
of course.
But a stranger had to be better
than anyone she knew.
And she didnt know
where he was headed.
But she wanted
to get there real bad.
Drive-In Drama
We park under the drive-in eucalypts,
radio on local rock station
Elton John singing Your Song
which sounds nothing at all like you,
then a harsh sped-up voice
cuts in advertising Mattys Mercedes Emporium
and some girlie singing trio
proclaim death to a character called Louis The Fly.
Then Rod Stewarts gravelly tones
warble Maggie May
something about being kicked out of bed
we are a long way from that
then more commercials,
for the cigarettes neither of us smoke
and the tacky sugary cereal we abandoned
years before.
There is a screen out there somewhere
showing the movie we apparently paid to see.
But we prefer the closeness
thats too awkward to come any closer,
the songs about different people entirely,
and the ads that keep up their barrage
but have no meaning for us whatsoever.
How was the movie, a friend asks.
Ive dated worse, is my standard reply.
A Night In A Downtown Hotel
Its a room for one.
Perhaps the only one the hotel has.
All others, apparently,
are filled with couples.
and, if not with love,
theres such a thing as
two-hundred-bucks-a-night togetherness.
Its ten at night.
And its just me and the walls,
the carpet, the bed and the bathroom.
The walls, the carpet, the bed and the bathroom.
The walls, the carpet, the bed and the bathroom.
I deny nothing its dispiriting value.
The Coyote
Head-lifted howl,
or high-pitched yips,
thats more than just some dog
craving your attention.
A creature is keeping
in touch with its pack,
wants nothing to do with you.
And its claiming its territory.
Meanwhile, you have the house
on Elm Street.
Its lanky, bushy-tailed,
with coat of yellowish-brown and red.
It lopes, up on its toes,
with ears on alert.
Its like nobody you know.
It would come for your chickens
if you had a coop.
Or your small dog
if you let your Maltese stray.
But, mostly,
its just out there somewhere.
Ever-present.
Nowhere near.
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