The Forest Year
Our forest is more a median strip
between parking lots
but to city people
it’s a forest
“Are there wolves here?”
asks my urbanite friend
she’s in pumps, with bleached hair
and a gammy knee
from 30 years in retail
“Yes, and they will aim
for your head,” I tell here
She’s here because
her store is closed,
like everything else,
which is also why I’ve returned
to my little forest
every day for a year
I’ve come to love the picnic tables,
the brass water spigot, tan bark,
even the dusty eucalyptus
and when I first heard the owls
saying Who? Who?
I asked them
Me? Me?
Have you been here for me
all along?
Out of
Airplanes
“You all have
character!” he said,
“I have no
character!”
which was odd for
he was so brave
spending all his
time
jumping off
cliffs, out of airplanes,
off bridges and
cranes
Base jumpers
often die by 40
but here he was
turning 50
and still chasing
women and cocaine
and breaking into
buildings
simply so he
could jump off them
“You must have a
death wish!” I said
“Not when I’m
flying,” he said,
“flying is the
only time
I feel like
I’m not
dying”
and I
thought
for a man with no
character
he sure does make
a lot of sense.
Free Gift – a covid poem
I won a free
gift
a small
stepladder
fire engine red,
it came wrapped
in cellophane and
had
directions and a
warning that said
“Don’t
fall.”
A lightbulb went
out
so I got out my
brand new
stepladder
but when I
unfolded it
I discovered the
top step
was only 8 inches
high
Designed for
hamsters? Geese?
I tried to
imagine
who would use
such a thing
Oh, I thought, it
is for the very old
who can’t climb
chairs
and always
need
something to hang
onto
It has virtually
no utility
but I’m going to
keep it
just in
case
I ever get
there.
Jon Bennett writes and plays music in what was once San Francisco. You kind find more of his work on most streaming websites and by connecting with him at www.facebook.com/jon.bennett.967/.
No comments:
Post a Comment