Poetry

‘Early’ and other poems

By: J.K. Durick

Early

      

This early the streetlights
begin losing their battle
with darkness

are slowly replaced by the sun
by morning
its beauty silent, bare

something whispers “fiat lux”
and then there
is

This early we get to see
day begin this way
the sky wins

colors return
tint on tint brightening
to the familiar

the houses stir
fill with people
with expectations

This early we feel
the possible is possible
once again.

###

Saturday Supper


While some of it is lodged between two back teeth
the rest is in my stomach somewhere settled in for
the night. Suppers act that way, especially Saturday
suppers when we pretend things are special, planned
out, night out, small plates served with a flourish we
save for Saturday nights now that the rest of the week
has become so dull. Meals like these should always be
served with proper wines we should savor course after
course, whites first light-bodied then full-bodied and on
to reds, or like tonight it was Diet-Pepsi followed by
perhaps coffee to keep things going. Each course deserves
attention, proper plates and forks, attention to details,
napkins and knives, comments and compliments. This
is our night out in front of the television, news, weather,
the tail end of a college game, basketball tonight, but
we watch whatever game they’re playing. Afterall this
is our weekend with nachos and chicken wings, the best
we can do these days. Some people have Parisienne cafes
and clubs to get to, on and on like that, but we get this
Saturday supper and the second half of the Georgetown
and Seton Hall game and all that that means.

###

Plague Poem for Day Three Hundred
and Forty-Nine
posts


In the old days, you remember those,
we said dumb things, profanity filled
things to ourselves, out loud at times,
at times to our friends, or in front of
groups, those slips, those embarrassing
things we couldn’t get back, things we
had to live with if they remembered.
But now, we have ways to make these
slips, these moments last. Now we have
social media to broadcast our thoughts,
make them public, get them to follow
us around. Now the picture we thought
was funny comes back to bite us, that
post you made saying what you thought
about this person or that, comes back,
splat, they all have it. It will haunt you
next time you apply for a job, a job you
are qualified for but said this or that about
things relevant to your potential employer,
will haunt you next time you’re a suspect
and the things you posted fit the profile.
In the old days, our stupid moments were
almost manageable, were mostly erasable,
but now here we are, here we are faced
with the forever tweet, the Facebook post
everyone recalls, the Instagram, tik toc
that will never ever go away.

Categories: Poetry

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