Six Poems by Wayne F. Burke

 

Hope is a thing with leaden feet

that one day--so you think--

will take-off running.

Ga Ga Gammor slapped

a cop and

got off with

pro-bay-she-own.

That Hungarian tart--

that Tartarian hoar--

she no want disabled

retardo montebons in the

front row of her shew

no more

no more.

Parking Meter

Two-headed Cerberus of the

almighty nickel; gulping

glutton of the coinage realm.

I forgot to feed her and

now a dog-faced meter maid writes

a ticket out for

me, god, and City Hall.

My father ed in the gas station

at his desk 

reading "Titus Andronicus"--

acrid odour of gasoline, smudge

of oil, grease...

The war he was in--

a bloody horror show

too.

Train whistle, pain

whistle, why doth thy

blow? You

wake the world

around, and

what for?

To move your iron

ass from "A" to point "B,"

sure--

but is it necessary

to wake the dead

as well?

I'm Mary Jane Bugaboo

how do you do?

So glad to meet cha.

Won't you have a seat?

Take a drink?

Well, think about it

won't you?

too paranoid to tell

his psychiatrist--

afraid she'd join the plot

April's icy breath:

cold feet in the bed

cold hands on my chest

dancing waves

onto rocky shore--

rocks clack like castanets

trum trum trum

trum from

the refrigerator

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published in print and online (including in LOTHLORIEN POETRY JOURNAL). He is author of 8 published full-length collections of poetry, one short story collection, and two nonfiction works (most recently BUKOWSKI the Ubermensch, Cyberwit.net., 2023). He lives in Vermont (USA).