Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Bookstore

The logo on the plastic
“Barnes & Noble Café”
a figurehead from student days, and
sailing on thin ice inside the cup,
the magenta liquid,
-sparkling pomegranate-
spews from a bottle of IZZE.

The hunter in me marks, in stealth,
the man across with unseen luggage
sipping his coffee and flipping the pages
of a book he won’t buy
for, in his heart,
he is a dancer, waltzing between
the present and the past
and thinking of things
he never did, while I’m projecting…
at what cost, who knows?

The book I hold, a narrow wraith,
a meager myth with no spine.
Time for my caper on scraps
of paper, so the ballpoint pen
can let the dark of the ink dive
and leap up, like an abscess.
Do words hurt or heal the world,
and should I reveal things
I haven’t told myself yet?