Five Poems by Jay Passer

 

Call History

I delete it at the end of the day.

She noticed.

Why do you do that? It seems like an extra, 

arbitrary action

while all you ever harp about is wasted motion.

I looked at her.

I wondered what planet she was from.

I want as little trace of my past to exist as possible, 

I said.

You think too much, she said, why

can’t you just 

let it go?

I sighed.

I wondered from what lineage of philosopher she’d been spawned.

Sitting there on a lawn chair

scrolling through her texts.

I remembered women spending just as much time

brushing their hair.

 

Tightrope Strung Threadbare Across the Precipices

I make my bed as mortar shells explode,

while babies are orphaned, just before breakfast;

as I brush my teeth, missiles target hospital wings.

Tasked to be grateful for the plentitude are we.

To grow souls in the smoldering soil.

Cultivating diamond aplomb within a glacial frost.

Meanwhile, as videos of the beheadings of hostages stream live

I tuck into my avocado toast.

 

It Washes Away With the Ashes

it wasn’t me

I didn’t start it

I wasn’t privy to the information

somebody else came up with the whole idea

I didn’t free the captives

and as far as I’m concerned the garden was poisoned from the get go

blame it on New Year’s

Valentine’s Day

Halloween

Red states

Blue states

pirate ships

space aliens

blame

that small child holding a pink balloon

standing quite apart from the crowd

the ribbon of spun gold

trailing from a tiny hand 

as

my own self, I float skyward

is it

really me?

or just

one less motherfucker breathing air on my planet

 

Ask Yourself

all your stuff

cars and girls

estates and entitlements

vanish in an instant

disputes

discriminations

your rung on the ladder

be it up heavenly or low totem

insignificant to the reaping

even your only true possession

the body

whatever its colour

size, gender

denomination

a puff of air

a raindrop on a sepulchre

all bets are off

death comes

unpredictable, inevitable

ultimate proof

of the equality of humankind

so maybe

ask yourself

what am I doing?

 

When I Don’t

see you I miss you

although I’m hurt

I’m on the hunt

sun blinding me

I cajole tease flirt

despite deep blues

by nightfall

I’m on the prowl

sneaking in the dark

cornering shadows

collecting toys treats trinkets

when I can’t be near

I want to give

you the world

everything in it 

and of it and

about it until

I see you again

which may never be

princess disguised

as a waif

and still the boys

lined up smitten

I could kill ‘em all

missing you is hell

Jay Passer's poetry first appeared in 1988 alongside the work of William Burroughs and Wanda Coleman in Caliban magazine. He's been included in print anthologies and online publications worldwide and is the author of 14 collections. A lifetime plebeian, Passer has laboured as dishwasher, barista, soda jerk, pizza cook, housepainter, courier, warehouseman, bookseller and mortician's apprentice. Originally native of San Francisco, Passer currently resides in Venice, California.