Broom
The boys in baseball caps
wolf down ice cream
grab their temples and
moan about headaches
They toss remnants of cones
onto the dull green linoleum
and run out the door
the bell ringing in their wake
leaving me and Eppa with
a whole lot of quarters
I go get the broom
Age
I feel the heaviness of my body
It has too much age
has suffered too much exertion
Its labor has been exploited
and used for others’ pleasure
Soon I won’t be able to move it
Vivian refuses to send me a photo of herself
I haven’t seen her in forty years
as long as Moses wandered in the desert
Perhaps she is doing me a favor
We want things that are
not good for us
She claims she is marred by warts
and carbuncles
but perhaps it is even worse than that
Perhaps her la raza cosmica
has lost its cosmica
and all a photo would show
would be a graceless chunk of mud
Vivian is right
It is better that she remain invisible,
that I not be subjected to reality
but instead imagine something finer
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.
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THE CITY KEY 