Ada Alley

featured in the poetry forum October 13, 2022  :: 0 comments

“What happened to your finger?”
Someone left the gate open again
and he’d been peeing when
I went down to lock it
His right index finger was gone
like just recently
and not in a hospital
“I’m a student of planetary polarity.”
“Of course,” I said
“It was a matter of synchronization,” he said
“So, you had to cut it off?”
“I’m glad you understand.”
We had a moment
of synchronization
although I still had my fingers
this was Ada Alley
where, when your time comes,
it’s never in a good way.

editors note:

Where it happens when you can’t quite put your finger on it. – mh clay

The Monkey with the Gun

featured in the poetry forum August 24, 2021  :: 0 comments

There were 3 monkeys
and one of them couldn’t see
although sometimes
he’d pull down his blindfold
just as the one wearing earplugs
occasionally popped one out
The really sick monkey
with tracheal cancer
could, in a pinch,
use his electric voice box
But these three monkeys
often didn’t like
what they heard
or saw
so when they spoke
it was usually to tell someone,
“Shut up!”
If that didn’t work
there was always the 4th monkey
the one with the gun
and the delete key.

editors note:

A fourth, for when evil persists. (We welcome Jon to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

The Miracles of Money

featured in the poetry forum November 6, 2019  :: 0 comments

I see him while I grind away
at penny keno, hoping to turn
$5 into $15
He’s wizened, thin
a smoked hock baking
in cigarette smoke
and he has 1,000s,
odd in this backwater town
One day I sit beside him and watch
“You live in Lakeport?” I ask
He blinks in amazement
that someone has chosen
to talk to him
“All my life. Are you
an angel?” he asks
He’s serious, and I realize
he is insane
“No,” I say,
as he hits
another jackpot
“Good one,” I say
“The miracles of money,” he says
looking toward the heavens
and the angels
forever circling
his head

editors note:

Believe or bet; it’s a gamble all the way. – mh clay

Bloody Mary

featured in the poetry forum May 28, 2019  :: 0 comments

She has an SRO in North Beach
and she’s a poet
who taught writing at the arts school
until the white wine
caught up with her
“My hotel room could be nice,” she says,
“but when I’m there
all I want to do is leave!”
The room is 9×10
and the one window
looks into an airshaft
If you open the window
you smell hamburger grease,
fish sauce and durian
but if you close it
all you smell
is mold
which is why
she’s always at the bar
“But hey,” she says,
“isn’t poetry great?!”
I look into her bleary eyes
and we both
raise a glass.

editors note:

Pay by the glass, by the room, or by the poem. Ain’t no “Free!” – mh clay