Two Poems

Pony Ride

At the emergency room,

trauma and tragedy slip in

and out of the door. Here

is a carousel of chances,

lifeline gliding and bobbing

in circles. Maybe we are all

clowns for even trying.

Sideshow oddities making

a mark under the great big top

of this cosmic joke. Applause

and lion’s roar, cannonballs

and dart-popped balloons.

We fill the quiet with

so much distraction.

More bodies continue

to remind this carnival room

of our fine fine flesh,

cotton candy tissues.

Every minute, pain.

Every minute, a wailing

that signals a soul

transcending the threshold.

And then a swift return

to speechlessness as if

in respect to mimes. 

Sometimes peace 

is a little pony ride

that comes to an end.

Wear This Shirt Inside Out

The ode to a t-shirt is but

an easy riddle: one way

to enter and three to exit.

You are good to go. Give in.

Here’s another one. Piles

in wardrobes and drawers

looking like sad dry lips, folds

mouthing the ancient plea,

Touch me, feel me, hold me…

At the mall we reach for the sale rack.

Fifty percent off. Another for eighty.

Add to cart. Proceed to check out.

Repeat a few weeks later.

Worries go well with the latest

trend. This new skin feels great 

until we shed it off revealing

skeletons we have long adorned

with bags, necklaces,

bracelets, earrings, bands

and tattoos, all perfumed

with the smell of crisp ATM cash.

Here’s a phone on credit

to remind us of the world’s next

expiry date. The clerk behind

the counter could only offer a smile.

In our small island province,

another mall grows and

another tree surrenders.

In the last thicket of Calcetta,

we remedy getting lost

by removing our shirts

and wearing them inside out,

to summon a trail before us

and lead us back to home safe

like deliverance. Revelations

via reversals. For some of us

there is no saving from all this,

no matter the times we wear

the shirt inside out. This is

our riddle we refuse to crack.