Poems
by Richard LeDue

 

 

Our Rightful Place

 

The wind is louder than Brahms tonight

and that seems to whisper something to me

about our rightful place in this world:

the way brilliance becomes grey haired,

giving way to folded hands and clothes

someone else decided made you

look a little less dead,

leaving me with concertos, symphonies,

requiems that comfort me with sounds

trying their damnedest

to live longer than others.

 

 

 

 

 

Blacking Out With Taylor Swift

 

I think people liked me more

when I used to drink more

because the whisky in my glass

preserved my slurred silence

like I was a dead prehistoric fly

trapped in amber,

but now I prefer Bach to blacking out,

and how all these deceased composers

wrote a soundtrack for me

before I was even born

by proving my Sunday mornings

could thunder with something else

other than a hangover.

 

 

 

 

 

Wiser Than Me

 

They say Wagner lived

in his later years

off money from the king

of Bavaria, and I know most

would confirm this

with an internet search,

but I’m okay to blindly believe

what I read

on the insert of the CD

I bought at a thrift store,

before stopping

at the liquor store again.

 

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