Ode to Poet's Day (August 21)

Writing has always been big part of my life. It’s a hobby, a refuge, a business. It’s been a source of enjoyment, a source of income and always a way to release frustrations, anger, angst, effusions of love, confusion, and the entirety of emotions that so often find us stumbling in our speech for the right words.

Amid all this apparent seriousness, however, is a bit of levity. As my friends and family know all too well, I have an evil wicked wit and twisted sense of humor; the darker the better. While I do write serious and deep for certain interests, my personal poetry interests run more along the Def-Poetry Jam lines.

So, in honor of National Poet's Day, I’ve decided to republish a poem I wrote several years ago as an undergraduate. I ended up including it in one of the poetry readings I did at a place that featured local artists and authors. Over the years it has remained one of my favorites.

I didn’t use anyone’s name in the poem, but the identity of the particular ex-fiancé who was the subject of this poem was immediately recognizable by half the audience. Hey, at least I waited several months to include it in the reading. Hopefully by now he'll be over it.


When Love Dies a Screaming, Screeching Death

I woke to the sound of your voice this morning
as it drifted down the hallway
and slipped underneath our bedroom door
then stealthily crept next to my ear.
You had to have known how peaceful I was
and what a pleasant dream I was having
as you waited until the perfect moment to scream
“WHERE’S the GODdamn TOILET paper?!?!”
And oh, what a lovely voice you have
at 6 o’clock in the morning.

My mom called this afternoon to approve of the china pattern
“but isn’t the crystal a little too blue?
And you know Aunt May still thinks this is a mistake
and-did-you-know-that-little-Corbey-girl-is-pregnant-AGAIN?”
She was right in the middle of Brenda Corbey’s plight
when you waltzed through the door
to proclaim with such piercing and poetic flair
“I HATE my FUCKING job!!”
And oh, what a lovely voice you have
at 5 o’clock in the afternoon.

Dan Rather look a little too sincere
and probably needs a good blow-job
But you don’t like the other news stations
and I at least try to stay informed.
You and I must be so close
that we can read each other’s minds.
Somehow you knew I was falling asleep
right at the end of his all-so-important
“That’s all for tonight
The crashing plate would have been enough
but you thoughtfully added such a touching surprise
“You GODdamn SON of a BITCH!!”
And oh, what a lovely voice you have
at 10:30 in the evening.

I finally realized our relationship
could never become boring.
You’re always finding such delightful new ways
to keep me alert.
Dancing on the bed last night
with your leg cramp
amused me to no end.
I had no idea you could scream
“MOTHER-FUCKER!!”
in seventeen different languages
or that your gifted vocal chords could reach so many tones
including two that only dogs can hear.
And oh, what a lovely voice you have
at 4 o’clock in the morning.

So now I’m leaving.
My bags are packed
and Morrissey is sobbing on CD
about a flaming hairdresser
or something like that.
Strangely enough,
you’re sullen and quiet.
And for a moment,
my stomach tightens
at the thought
of not hearing your voice again.
But only for a moment.

DED