the torture goes on
I can hear the sounds of it
so I put up a wall
between me and it
and think of other things
it’s not like I haven’t tried to kill the bastard
who wields the voodoo doll and the long pins
I’ve looked everywhere
the torture goes on
I can hear the sounds of it
so I put up a wall
between me and it
and think of other things
it’s not like I haven’t tried to kill the bastard
who wields the voodoo doll and the long pins
I’ve looked everywhere
I swear I got the Christmas tree
broke the ornaments out of the attic
sang the songs
held the child’s hand
showed up and coughed up
for the plate
If she is still there
smoking on the bench
like a movie star
when you are
on your way out
you will speak to her.
married a long time
work takes me on the road
for a few days
and nights
get home
stomp in the house
say, “I am very glad to see you, baby.”
on Sunday
I fix the light out back
get some groceries
burn old branches
in the backyard
under the giant oaks
drink beer in the shifting sunshine
From the collection into the cold wind: winter poems (Buy Me Lunch, 2010) by Bob Hudson
I ran out of patience
took over
decided who to cut
from the team
everyone swayed
to my arbitrary whims
the law in the helicopter
spots our blue pickup
and we hear the distant siren
of the highway patrol
being vectored in
we pulled a set of jumper cables out of the trunk
and all the problems of the world
were solved