Dissatisfied by David Spicer

Nebraska isn’t Cannes, so I suffer
from asthma and shrapnel in my Achilles heel.
I’m a vegetarian visionary, true,
and self-esteem lingers somewhere
in my forgotten pocket watch.
What this place needs is a grenade
in a swordfish mouth. Then I could write
my magnum opus, strip in the drug store,
shield myself in a cocoon. I need a wetsuit
to campaign like a dove, my eyebrows
want a divorce. I crave a campus, but a bible
will suffice. If the snow teaches a lesson
it’s one of ethics: taffeta is a great shield
for a bachelor. I love sex, but merger
is something else. Stargazers are obsolete,
they’ve lost luster. Where are my Lucky Strikes
and jacket? I don’t mean to be grouchy,
I’m searching for a steamer truck,
a quartet to puzzle this audience of gophers.
After all, I’m just a librarian:
warrants are out for my arrest.
Bandages suffocate my soul
and I’m a seesaw. Snow is life.

david-spicer-2
David Spicer has had poems in The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Gargoyle, Mad Swirl, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The New Verse News, The Laughing Dog, Chiron Review, Easy Street, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, among others, and in the anthologies Silent Voices: Recent American Poems on Nature (Ally Press, 1978), Perfect in Their Art: Poems on Boxing From Homer to Ali (Southern Illinois University Press, 2003), and A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Best of the Net twice and a Pushcart, and is the author of one full-length collection of poems, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke’s Press, 1987), and four chapbooks. He is also the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.
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