It's like my grandfather always told me: Mike, when life hands you Lemons, ask for a paternity test.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

To an Unborn Daughter

-for Hilary

You’re only a thought I now
impress onto your mom.
My fingers write your name
on her skin. With slight pressure,
I inscribe I M O G E N
across her stomach.

Who knew we willed you to life?

Now, you’re on the way,
and it’s never too early to start.
I kiss your mom’s distended belly
and whisper Ramona will be
your new name. You will be smarter
than we. And with that, I write poems
to you. Your mom sings.
You kick in accord.

Then, there were complications.

Now, you’re again a thought
impressed in our souls. Your mom
and I feel your name on our lips,
bellies and fingers. Imogen.
Ramona. How can we call you?
How could we forget?

Castroville, Texas (October 13, 2011)

I.
In the basement where Germans
brewed beer stored in small kegs,
you can now buy carved icons,
New Mexican incense and Oaxaca wallets.

II.
Upstairs, a man sells venison sausage,
which he pairs with Wisconsin smoked
gouda and imported Norwegian Jarlsberg.

III.
Besides the Ch√Ęteau, city hall deals
with public disturbances. The drunks
climb the historic fire escape for a slide.
The town is not impressed.

IV.
Up two blocks, pecans fall
around the square. Nature's
offering.

V.
At the Old Alsatian Steakhouse
& Ristoriante, the veal piccata
is highly recommended.

Punishment

For using the word "trespassing" in the thesis and
justifying its usage during the presentation the professor-
from BYU not UTSA
me this angry note
Find a poet from India,
and write a 6 7 page
in mauve crayon
Due at my office
between 5-7

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

While Listening to Monk

she slips easily in
between the notes.
But the silence!

Now that's noisy.

he falls into silence.
Wanders for days.

Thelonious listens to himself.
Fingers on keys, waiting...

The pause is long-a hundred
batons crack his skull again-
even for him.

He pushes onto the next note.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Poetics of Jokes: Zombies


I.
Have you ever thought about zombie attacks?
I have.
And I decided that if there were a zombie infestation,
I would just go with it.
We already live in a world that accepts the undead—Rob Zombie,
Cannibal Corpse, Nancy Grace—
and if we learned anything from the Thriller video,
the undead make great dancers.
Except the white ones;
not even death can fix their groove.

II.
Zombies don’t actually want to pick
your brains. They’re just looking for love.
But the way they go about finding love
is appalling. They’re too touchy feely.

Saturday Morning at Rimkus Park


-Leon Valley, Texas

    Catch iiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!!
rang through the air,
and a scramble ensued
            three players converging
                 where the leather
                        ball might
                              fall…
No one catches it,
and the whole field
erupts into laughter
and  its first language.

The dark players, dressed in polos
and trainers, reset, and focus
on the duel. One stands
tall, the protectorate, a flat
bat defending three long sticks.
The other, a few paces back,
gathers speed, and hurls
the projectile. The ball takes
one bounce before reaching
the batter.

I must hit the ball merges and contrasts with Only one wicket.

The batter wins, and the ball
rises to a chorus of Catch iiiiit!!!
And I’m on the outside,
foreign to both game and language,
leaning by the sign
For Baseball
and Softball
use only.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Unspoken


Unspoken
            -for “Bob Roberston”

A fistful of words
slipped through their fingers, never
to reach the others.
Who is this man, this Stranger
who played both sides for money?

A pocketwatch chimes
as Mortimer, and Manco
and El Indio
wait for the finish—the start
of the silence which will chime.

Just a name would do,
but he is Blondie, and now
Angel Eyes, Tuco,
and he face off, a fifteen
minute Mexican standoff.