Five Poems
by Martin H. Levinson
I am an I
c
e
b
e
r
g
floating in
the Sea of
Indecisiveness,
hidden motives
lying deep
beneath
the surface,
jagged peaks
of reason
and despair.
Ambiguity
is rock solid,
a mile thick,
algae and
confidence
nowhere
to be seen.
Go with the
floe I tell
myself
melting from
the strain of
trying to
make a
good choice,
if I ask
you out
you could
say no.
Signal Reactions
Red light,
Dont Walk,
Stop, Look,
and Listen
to thoughts of
being tied to a
desk with no
window, fat
loudmouth
next to me
screaming
into his phone.
Red light,
Dont Talk
about a
home Ive
outgrown,
a girlfriend
who keeps
me frozen
to the curb.
Signal changes,
I move forward
aware that barreling
down the boulevard
of broken dreams
and bootless bustle
like hooligan hotrods
from the hedgerows
of hell are forces
that threaten to
kill and maim me
if I cross the
thoroughfare.
I cross anyway.
Thoughts I Had When You Told Me to Eat Shit
Should I have it as an appetizer, entrée,
dessert, in a sandwich, on the half shell,
a la mode, scrambled, simmered, steamed,
creamed, scalloped, seared, boiled, baked,
roasted, fileted, flambéed, fried, maybe with
a side. Perhaps I can also offer you something
to chew on, a few sarcastic words to cut you to
the quick, make you feel sick, realize youre a
dick who likes dumping his venom on innocent
vics, gets in his licks on people just trying to
help him. Or maybe I should simply smile and
say, have a nice day, turn around, walk away
from grief youve given me through the years,
listening to your bogus fears of losing a tenured
teaching job, a wife who treats you like a god,
friends who wish the best for you, of which Im
of that steadfast crew that wants you not to be a
nit, to which you replied fuck you, eat shit.
Lost in Thought
in thickets and birds
flowers and trees
sun overhead
moon on the rise
and wouldnt you know it
Ive tripped
on a branch
I should have seen
if I hadnt been thinking
I should have been
quiet and listened to you
when you told me to get
waffles at Key Food
two cans of soup
frozen burritos
dont forget cheese
and cold cuts for lunch
instead of replying
Im not forgetful
you think I am stupid
just tell me the items
you want me to get
then into the car
and off to the woods
where Im taking a walk
and thinking real hard
was it four cans of soup
and what did you say
we needed for lunch.
Singular Dudes
Pooch is a butting, rubbing, pushing, pawing,
I-want-some-of that-cake kind of cat who
lets me stroke his whiskers and pet his wavy
marcel coat for as long as and strong as Id
like. When he stares at me with his slanty,
yellowish-devilish green eyes I get
the feeling theres someone home
in his tabby cranium, that Im viewed
not merely as a hominid meal ticket
but as a beasty chum worthy of slurping
and burping beer from a bowl.
Buddy, his younger feline companion,
is a cat of a different color, a fearful mouser
who after nine years of being faithfully fed,
devotedly taken care of, sees me as a stranger
in the kingdom of carnivores and a source of
continuous perplexity and bemusement.
No going to the bar with Bud for wet food, ale,
and the camaraderie of life forms banging heads
together. No going to the couch for a kneading
session, plop down, and a restorative nap. No
bounding through the house bumping up
against each other, but instead
a gentle extension
of a hand for sniffing,
a beseeching
dulcet voice,
a tremulous query,
what can I do
to make you like me?
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