Three Poems by John Harold Olson

 

 

Saturday Matinee 

 

Rainy gusts 

sway the bus 

Going in to see Viva Las Vegas at the Royal Oak 

No one speaks 

Listen to the lowing of the longhorns 

Down toward The breaks 

Tom Dunson stands in the stirrups And waves the bus through the creek bed 

silver and red bus bottoms out in the creek 

like a boozy trombone note 

“Well rope a couple of these big steers And pull you out. Ten bucks” 

Later, beneath a thirty foot poster of Elvis and Ann Margaret 

I saw the future, all of it 

I tried to blot it out, but not really.

 

 

Mrs Klaatu 

 

The silver craft swept 

Over the cloudy planet 

alerting armies with missiles pointed in every direction. 

She came gingerly down the ramp 

Silver orthopaedic shoes Silver suit and hat A silver purse 

“I come in peace.” 

She reached into her purse for her gift to mankind And they shot her. 

When she came to In Walter Read 

The President’s flunky said, “Oh hello there. We are So sorry.” 

“Well, there it is,” she said. “The apology.” She reached into her bag for a cigarette.

“This is a ‘no smoking zone”, the flunky said. “Yeah,” she said. “Well, that’s the least Of your worries after this. Earthling.”

 

 

The Sun , The Moon And The Truth -from Buddha 

 

running your mouth 

With the wildcard in your pocket a poison lie Everything perfect In this murder cult 

Has anyone heard from The Man? 

 

The idea, He said, stirring his coffee, Is to make the thing right yourselves. 

“I mean,” He said, “when does it all end?”

John Harold Olson - Is a retired Special Education teacher in Las Vegas. Transitioning to being a hospice volunteer.