Sunday, December 23, 2018

Vapors (For Kat)

Woke up heaving like a Belgian sailor with a waffle stuck in their crow’s hatch
My Sicilian grandfather would smoke any cigarette he had coupons for
Never forget walking into my grandparents’ living room on Liberty seeing him smoking a Virginia Slims Luxury Light 120 in his favorite recliner

My poetry doesn’t need to make sense when you’re my muse steering me toward distant shores and refurbished lunch counters
I desire to kiss all of your tattoos in the order you got them or in alphabetical order if that’s more to your irresistible liking
We settle for brunch when breakfast was too difficult a task to master in the middle of another underground war

I imagine your second in command is a Siamese cat that speaks in haiku and your most trusted of confidantes is a red-tailed hawk that loves discussing string theory after a break of heron and wood rats
The lively discourse of Alice was never challenged because Lewis Carroll was a master at keeping things well hid including if his "little heroine" was actually based on any real child
Libraries are the only friend I’ve ever trusted without any reservations or lingering doubts

Woke up and when the heaving abated I made myself a cup of instant coffee and remedied my vertigo by sitting down at the computer and writing this poem for you
I imagine us going to the park or some old time theater where the films are still shown on an actual movie projector and when the lights go down no one talks or munches their popcorn too loudly
We mustn’t resist the temptation to live the life we choose to live because even love can grow prickly if left on the vine too long

Charles Cicirella

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