Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Summer smells like comic books

April is national poetry month. I've been writing a poem each day, along with a whole lot of other people. Persuaded by their example, and more directly by a friend, I've decided to share some. Also, there are a few other posts in the works. I'm waiting for a feedback because their a little more complex than previous ones. Thanks for your patience and readership.

The poem:

Summers smells like comic books


And you walk out that first warm night,
Outdoor cafes and bars stew with conversation,
tumid voices rise in a great hymn
forks, knives and mugs accompany
there’s enough alcohol spilt to make it all melodic.

you walk down the street, belly full beer suds on your back pallet,
without a jacket. Each car that goes by
blasts the happiest song it knows,
whether it’s pop music, or just engine sounds.
You know the warm whether has come.

At home in your humid room
bugs beat themselves against the screen. A few sneak in.
The June bug buzzes on the wall, its wings obelisks grinding
grinding, and an ant’s drunken exploration in bed’s twilight
make you wish for winter for the insect genocide,
but you open a comic instead.
An indestructible man has all the sex you wanted,
drinks more than you ever could,
lives in the noir den of inequity you can only dream of.
The open window lets summer mingle with turned pages

the next morning the smell is still there, and not just a dream