Moves
He’s got moves, but the music
is all wrong for the occasion,
doing his funeral dirge
toe-drag at the wedding reception,
it’s a bad number.
I am glad I am not the only one
who occasionally accidently smiles
at wakes, or does not know what to say,
glancing down at loss,
running empty on wit and words.
I am glad I am not the only one
reduced to series of mumbles
and jerky motions on a regular basis.
Reboot
Never fear, the story is the same,
although the cast is somewhat updated
(they are all so young now and have new
surgeries, while the old cast is being
carefully repaired) the plotlines are like
comfort pillows, soft and cushy, full of air,
the characters broadly drawn, reminding one
of the way some horoscopes are written,
the exposition is barely necessary, the action
rushing to a climax, and the dénouement
tastefully brief so that the audience clearly
sees the set-up for the sequel.
Revisions
The smears of what used to be written
here can still be made out, but never mind,
because the new version is much cleaner.
Do not even worry about the prior edition;
he was prone to outburst, had bad skin,
liked to cuss without art, and did not know
the proper use of the semicolon, thought you
had to use a comma before too when terminating
a sentence. In short, he was a mess, but this new
bit of scribble really makes up for the minor
inconveniences…of course, I am sure there are
errors here, as well, as editing is a constant process
leading up to the loud, slapping close of the book.
Rubbish
The way she says rubbish,
it makes you believe that rubbish
wears a long robe and recites
Latin, that rubbish owns a yacht,
ceramic busts of famous thinkers,
and rests between marble pillars
while discussing Spinoza and HBO.
Rubbish has read all the latest
authors I have never heard of,
attends readings, is fashionable,
so much better than trash,
who simply loiters about, begging
for change, spitting on the sidewalk.
Tadpole
It was early morning
when he noticed the translucent
bubble, the swimming ink inside,
and by lunch, the size had increased,
the sense of hope and light
giving way to an unfortunate shadow,
his fuse a little shorter,
a resisting but ultimately yielding
personal metamorphosis.
—
JD DeHart is the author of the chapbook, The Truth About Snails. He is a staff writer for Verse-Virtual and his blog is jddehart.blogspot.com.
