Talkers never write
Dreamers never write, the vast whiteness
stark black and bitchy jealousy of critics
such easy excuses. Our ever dissolving
educational system leaves readers
muddling through anything
over 145 characters, without emoticons.
And here is a request from a boy who wants
a toy truck. But you discover he
is paralyzed and dictated his request
to his sister, while clutching a broken car
to his emaciated chest, making
car sounds with his mouth.
But wait
let’s look at the boy as labor, the truck
capital and his soul imperiled
by a rampant, enabling giveaway
of resources.
Resources better applied
to an able-bodied boy
who can fight for his county.
You, Poet
After Billy Collins
At any one time I wonder
how many poets are
facing the blank page.
A Schrödinger’s cat
snowy pristine potentiality
yearning of a virgin’s thighs
for a masterful pen
with mention of peonies
bursting through snow.
You hear me, poet
you cringe and turn away
embarrassed by my raw
treatment of a sexuality that
has been our guilty secret.
But it was not wrong
it was simply our due.
We bring the rain,
jazz and white tipped mountains
to people who do not know
how to see
and are afraid.
We cage the wild
beast, tiger burning bright
the rage, the tears
create a petting zoo
for the uninitiated.
Meanwhile you and I
wallow in the white sheets
waiting to be told if
the cat is alive or dead.
checkbook register
showed grocery trip
July fourth
police called next day
mother found wandering
the streets dazed
now she sits in care facility
plays endless hands of canasta
with long dead siblings
still cheats
children despised her
son-in-law calls her
Satan's third grade teacher
they clean out her home
no trinkets held dear
no fond memories to wrap carefully
take home on laps
shove into boxes for Salvation Army
take time only to watch
for papers, legal documents
until someone notices
the plate of fresh bright apples
on kitchen counter
did she know when she rubbed
their glossy red skins
smelled their perfume
they would be her last independent act
someone says
the plate of apples
is depressing
I don't know who
Michelle Hartman's work was recently featured in The Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas. She has been published in Spillway, Plainsongs, Crannog, Poetry Quarterly, The Pedestal Magazine, Raleigh Review, San Pedro River Review, Pacific Review, Concho River Review, and RiverSedge, as well as over seventy other journals and thirty anthologies. Her work also appears overseas in Ireland, Germany, Australia, Canada and Nepal as well as a being a multiple Pushcart Nominee. Her new poetry book, Irony and Irrelevance was released from Lamar University Press in March 2015 and is available on Amazon as well as my first book, Disenchanted and Disgruntled also from Lamar University Press (2013). Besides the above publishing credits, she is the editor for the online journal, Red River Review and holds a BS in Political Science-Pre Law and a Certificate in Paralegal studies.
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