By GREG MAFFETT | Published: April 21, 2012
Time again for a few poems.
I kinda sorta know where when is going
After that maybe a few more
To fill the void
Or not
I should
...but I won't.
My underwear are going to pot
Holes and such, rips tears
You know, I've retired three pairs
To teh rag drawer, their new home under my sink
I should go shopping for new ones
...but I won't
In fact I can do better
Than just replace the three
I can count out the years
I have left
Estimate the expectancy
Burning up three pair a year
From now til then
Do the math
...but I won't
I could be wrong
but the way i see it
a man does everything he needs
to do today, everything he'll need
in any one area of his life
he does that today
He's already dead
so I won't.
The Grandkid
I probably shouldn't say this
write this
but my grand daughter
has skin that looks so much like
a Turkey about to go into the oven on Thanksgiving
it's eerie
Then her left arm
Just like a chicken wing
she holds it there while trying
fruitlessly
to get her fist in her mouth
It is not so much the avian qualities
that I'm reacting to here
the feeling is that she has no more defenses
than an already plucked poultry
and knowing that
walking around the block
her in a stroller
my daughter pushing
three generations upright
its that
and nothing more
Argentina
Is where the wine I'm drinking
originated, per it's label
you can never be sure about that
could be a kid in the Bronx
with a chemistry set and a printing press
you never really know
unless you were there when the grapes came off the vine
One of the wine guys in Napa
is married to an Argentine
his case is a little more believable
as he travels to Argentina now and then
to visit her family
or so he says
I can never be sure, but he seems sure
or at least surer than I am of this wine
A coworker is getting married in August
To an Argentine
Or so he thinks
per the story, he has been engaged at least once a year
for the past half dozen years
to various women
from countries that are not the USA
Do I buy it?
Me?
I've seen a place called Argentina on a map.
That's all I know.
Tough one
This one is tough
Do I write about family that isn't here?
Or the issue with my big toe?
As to the toe, it is here, for certain.
I cut the nail too far, you know
The fungus stuff that most everyone gets
gets under part of the nail and turns it from
translucent to opaque
turns it brittle
so chopping it makes
sense, so you do, I did
Then it grows into my flesh
and that doesn't feel good
so I gouge out the flesh
so the dead nail can take that space
and tell my self not to do that
again.
I guess
in the end
the toe
was more
present
in this poem
than family that wasn't here.
But they are out there
Family that isn't here, I mean.
My mom, who made a blanket for her great granddaughter
it had a few errors
that my brother could have fixed
but given the time involved didn't
but passed along a hint that my younger daughter
who also isn't here
could have used
to fix the blanket that is here
Bottom line on the blanket
it's here and it has a couple holes in it
So is the christening dress my mom sent.
My brother is sending me a keyboard
for my new iPad. sending it to my work
because when you send stuff to my home
I'm never there to sign for it
so it goes to work
and they hold it and on those days when they
have something like that I do feel like
it is my birthday, even if it isn't.
I think that is it.
All I have.
All the poems I that are in me today.
All I'll write until it is
Time again.
By GREG MAFFETT
Published: February 12, 2012
A few words when I should have been doing something else.
By GREG MAFFETT
Published: February 4, 2012
Now and then, I remember where I am.
Any Comments?