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The #1, Local (#303)

I want to be interesting
To the old man with the sketch pad
On the #1, Local.

Look at me, here,
Standing with arms stretched high
Bracing against the rattle of the tracks.
I am an eagle.
Proud. Soaring.
Or if not me,
Sketch my wife, at least,
Calmly in front of me
Her profile shaded by the flickers
Of passing light.
Beauty I would love seen by others.
Find us interesting!

The old man pulls out his charcoals
And draws a graceful curved line,
Smooth.
An eagle’s wing?
The fall of my wife’s hair?

The two guys next to me laugh
When they recognize
The curve of the young woman’s face
Who sits next to the artist.
“Smart old guy.
Always draw the pretty girl.”

My arms are still wings, proud.
My wife is still beautiful.
The train keeps rattling, forward.
As, of course, it should.

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2016 in new poetry

 

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#268

still life                     (published Midwest Poetry Review, 1996)

I lie here
          in your painted anguish,
                    a naked model
                    for you to recreate.
I don’t mind
          the lack of privacy
          but your brushstrokes
                    leave me bruised
          and I know
                    it will show
                    on your canvas.
You like coloring
          your anguish
          with me
                    and I, the model,
                    accept this.

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2014 in previously published

 

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