Four Poems by Douglas Richardson

 

The Pharmacist

1.

The pharmacist strolls

along the shopping centre sidewalk

pince-nez in his shirt pocket

takeout bag in his hand—

 

he’s breathing easy

with money in the bank

the crows don’t make a sound

2.

The pharmacist motorcycles

to the desert, mountains, sea

his black leather jacket

a boon for humanity

3.

The pharmacist slips

extra samples into a patient’s bag

later that night

he meets a philanthropist

on the dating site

4.

The pharmacist sings

in the choir because the sum of all voices

equals the speed of light squared

together they reach the seventh dimension

5.

The pharmacist photographs

robins in the park—

 

light breeze on his back

his feet leave the ground

the crows don’t make a sound

 

Set My Alarm: A Winter Strategy

Set my alarm for 11 a.m.

that’s twelve hours away

when I finally do get out of bed

it’ll have been half the day

and half the day to go

once to eat, not three times

two pills to take, not four

and I won’t step outside

I won’t open the door

 

It’s True You Were Eccentric

It’s true you were eccentric

You knew all along but didn’t live it

If you could go back and do it different

It would be all wrong

Wrong place

Wrong time

Someone else’s song

Your son has today’s itinerary:

Discharge is at five

Trent is the nurse

No blood pressure meds

No water beds

No lifeguard on duty

He’s a bit like you, isn’t he?

 

Pop Culture Continuum

Muhammad Ali, the Age of Aquarius

Johnny Depp, the man in the moon

Bonnie and Clyde, fabulous Las Vegas

Amadeo Modigliani, the blue eyes of Dune

 

Mr. Rogers, a dew-drop fern

Shohei Ohtani, a rolling wave

Buckminster Fuller, accelerated by CERN

David Copperfield, the fire in Plato’s cave

 

Edith Piaf, a walk on the water

Tyger Tyger, a balanced physique

Gautama Buddha, a back-floating otter

Jim Morrison, eine kleine nachtmusik

 

Abraham Lincoln, an arthouse film

E.E. Cummings, a formidable feather

Vincent van Gogh, in many realms

Dorothy Parker, amid the weather

 

 

Douglas Richardson lives in Santa Ana, California, with his wife Jen and cat Wes.  In these work-from-home years he likes to watch Big Bang Theory reruns during his lunch hour.  His poetry has been published in The American Journal of Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, Black Poppy Review, Cajun Mutt Press, The Ekphrastic Review, Hobo Camp Review, The Nervous Breakdown, The New Verse News, Straight Forward Poetry, Trouvaille Review, and Poetry Super Highway. In 2013, he won the Poetry Super Highway contest with his entry, “Notes from the Graveyard Shift.”