I will gladly pump my fist
I will jump and wail and jive
when not me nor you’s alive
I will sing and dance and bray
when we’re underneath the clay
when we’re underneath the dirt
I will faun and flounce and flirt
I will flirt with all the worms
when we’ve both lived out our terms
when we’ve gone to see our maker
I will play the drum and shaker
I will play the flute and fife
when we’ve given up on life
when we’ve gone to meet saint peter
I will buy a half-liter of coke
and we’ll mix it with rum and get drunk and make love after we croak
a telephone call wakes me
while I am following some jackass
across a busy highway,
both of us dodging cars
some foreign city;
I lost the sandals off my feet
sand ankle-deep in the road,
the jackass leads the way;
what is “the way”?
I do not know,
sure as shit
that this is not
It’s the end of the meal and I really need to get going.
A summer storm’s brewing, and I need to drive home
to get ready for company. I’m lingering though, not
wanting to leave, not ready to say goodbye to friends.
Stefanie says she’s spending the summer in Michigan
and asks me if I’m going to be up there anytime soon.
Meghan’s just come back from a conference and she
tells me about the weird workshop experience she had.
I’m sitting next to a rambunctious toddler who keeps
poking me with his chopsticks and gets a little scared
when I jokingly tell him in a monster voice to quit it.
You can see it in his eyes—that monster is frightening.
Isn’t it odd, and kind of crazy, but wonderful though
that we all ended up here, in this same room together?
Maybe that’s a trite observation. I can’t help but feel
it though. The world spins and scatters us in Detroit,
Pittsburgh, Kalamazoo, Greensburg, Black Mountain.
We walk past each other as strangers dozens of times.
But when we look back on that, it feels like a dream.
Before I leave the restaurant, we break open cookies.
Meghan tells us about her collection of paper fortunes,
how she keeps them all stashed away in a box. When I
show her what mine says, she goes, “That’s the best.”
The Chihuahua & the monkey
are fighting on a video
uploaded to the Facebook
The monkey is playing with
the Chihuahua’s whiskers
and the Chihuahua has
and bites at the monkey and
the monkey jumps away and slaps
at the Chihuahua like a cat.
People are offended.
“this is not a bit funny,”
“This is disgusting behavior,”
“you are sick in the head!”
Donna says monkeys are
vicious and “might rip body
parts off at any second,”
I guess Donna has
with her husband
and Jeanne has never
screamed at her sibling
and Linda has never provoked
all Mother Theresa’s
feeding the homeless
dogs and never
a case of the giggles
I’m lost in my life, can somebody help me?
My brain’s gone missing and my heart is on empty.
It’s been far too long without love in my life.
Every day another little piece of me dies.
I’ve climbed every mountain and swam all the seas.
But my ears must be deaf to love’s melodies.
The search is getting harder the older I get.
They make it look so easy on my television set.
I’ll go straight down to Hell and kiss Satan’s ass.
I’ll drink 100 shots of whiskey from an aids tainted glass.
I’ll search the whole wide world from below and above.
I’ll do anything and everything to find my true love.
I’ve talked to the wise man on top of the mountain.
It took me forever but I finally found him.
Seeking his knowledge I begged for his counsel.
I asked my question and waited for his announcement.
But all I left him was perplexed and totally confounded.
No other seekers question had ever confused him.
So I jumped off the mountain to complete the illusion.
So now I’m left with my original thought.
Who is love and who is not?
That’s a question that is impossible to answer.
You can’t water a flower that’s not in a planter.
My name is Michael Joseph Patton. I am a 55-year-old divorced father of three lovely daughters.I work as a cook and like to spend my free time writing poetry, spending time with family and friends, walking in the woods or the beach and reading other poets.I am very new to the poetry world, having only written for less than 2 years, but look forward to many years of writing left in me.