Poems
by Richard
LeDue
Where do they come from?
Those little black bugs
that invade my house every summer-
are they reincarnated politicians
who never got caught in life
in the lies that we know are true,
and why does the mouse shit
in my crawlspace
try its damnedest to not stink
of another metaphor we need
to make up to belittle all
our political enemies we never met?
The Health Benefits of Wine
Maybe I should write a poem
about wine, so I can appreciate
the papercut on god’s thumb,
or pretend it makes me
look smarter
than my favorite cheap whisky-
at home at the bottom
of a dollar store paper cup,
while blocking out the sun
once again.
Homemade Darkness
Sitting by myself with the lights off,
content with how the darkness feels
homemade, especially when doomscrolling
at 1 AM, reluctantly accepting
the world we want is too much
like apple juice and baker’s yeast
taking too long to ferment,
leaving Sibelius to help
distill my own despair
on another thrift store CD.
