Two Class Poems

Ed in Dark Blue and Khakis

Says the same sentences everyday
too-close static rings from the cone as:
"It is currently 8:55. The Goodwill
will be closing in five minutes. Please
bring your purchases to the front of the store."

Ears unclench and a wild shuffle in housewares
moves to men's jeans and abates
he sits back and crams his hand
into the greasy Dorito pit, feeding
his fingers with the last morsels

Fred, maybe late, brings the key
"Let's go." A slack parade follows to:
a hollow switch flick lock clicks
motorcycle roars and one cricket
with timpani, leads to brave blacktop

At home in a potato salad cage
head pats and easy math flash cards
stairs lead to what horrible offense
let the oppressors wash their own ears!
as for him he shall remain untouched

In solemnity's grasp he is stuffed, a man, in flannel
poured into a goose-ridden pillow
for one last night his head touches
a place where a map was constructed
carefully by collectible, glow-in-the-dark light

A door is creaked and cracked as he slips
down the slope towards the night
which is the forest, of course the map
so carefully outlined that part for him
the man descending into the oaks

He runs for they will come with keys
to carve new cleanings, special nouns for him
his oversized agility, trips when he goes to turn
a slow struggle, he yells in defense: "It is currently 8:55..."
Fred's flashlight finds him finishing his sentences

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Friends' First Place

From, I heard they were living in Livingston
To, Nice place, hard as hell to find
Sauntering in, wondering what to say
So overly positive of everything in sight

The grody carpet with ground in
Stains on countertops, dish piles
Piles of laundry from the slim closet
Fifty or so disposable ashtrays tossed
Around and over, cradling Camel smell
So dense my temple tenses
But bottles and cans crack open easy
Alleviate smells with laughed half words
History so inconsequential, a novella of experiences
Tossed around, passed down 'till passed out

Their garden grows, harvests healthy spinach
As my envy, both put in Ziplocs and stored

A quick tour of their bedroom, total privacy, a liberty
Pictures of the Dalai Lama and hanging
The Communist Flag with irony; bookshelves
Bursting with what we will absorb
The drywall is magic, front door blessed
With a power I idly yearn for
To hold myself up, straight-backed

They explain plans for a grand, messy mural
As I wander, wondering what to learn
To build a better expression of growth
I think about wood floors, bean-
bags, giant television worship stations

Suddenly their cat paws a couple empties
In the recycling and as we look
He is, all at once, my wild-eyed cat