Snapdragons Crackle

Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,

a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.

Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes

and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.

Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura

and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.

- Donal Mahoney

(featured in the poetry forum 01.10.12)

editor's note: Flower garden subterfuge abounds. Cinderella inflorescence fills the stunted bloom, deformed by jealous over-pruning. - mh

My Therapist’s a Lady

It’s all so simple now,
yet it took 30 years
to begin to understand.
It’s as though someone
stole the primer I had
and gave me another
in my own language.
It’s because you are
who you are
that I’ve begun
to become who I am.
That sounds too dramatic.
All you did, really, was scream
when you opened the bathroom door,
saw me wrapped in a towel,
standing at attention on a mat,
waiting in my thirtieth year
for the steam to clear
from the cabinet mirror,
waiting for someone
to shout, “At ease.”

- Donal Mahoney

(featured in the poetry forum 11.02.11)

editor's note: What shouts may come as the steam clears? What image seen in that foggy mirror? Takes therapy to figure that shit out! - mh

Anthem for the Age

Two evenings a week
I go to Melissa’s,
to talk and to fuck.

We talk first,
we fuck later.
Summer, fall,

winter, spring,
nothing distracts us.
We are to each other now

what we were at the start:
someone to talk to,
someone to fuck.

- Donal Mahoney

(featured in the poetry forum 09.21.11)

editor's note: A perfect depiction of priapic pragmatism. - mh

Copyeditor’s Dream

Earlier than ever this morning I wait
for copy to vacuum. It must be free of error
and the deadline is near.
But what matters today isn’t news about war,
poverty or race riots ripping the city.
What matters today is the warm quicksand
of that good woman under me again,
taking me in. Let her writhe,
let her tug at her knees, let her legs go off
in every direction. Let her take what I have
and lunge for more. I’ll be here forever,
a bee crazed by the honey
buttering her thighs.

- Donal Mahoney

(featured in the poetry forum 07.21.11)

editor's note: When it's time to get down to business, there's no better example than the instinctive industriousness of bees. Let's get to buzzin', folks! - mh