DECEMBER POETS

Rats

By

S.M. Abeles

Slithering across the grid,

a maze with no real exit,

Capitol City’s downtown streets,

work furlough Friday night buzz paying off,

passed the smiling death of gourmet ice cream parlors and faux organic eateries,

passed the politicians’ aids,

the lawyers; murderers, accomplices,passed the college bars tendering roofies up,

passed the college kids blissfully ignorant of what I am,or life is,

capable of,

to the station, my jitney to death row,

I leave the remains of my last meal,

half eaten Margherita pizza, half drunk beer,

with my friends.

With the rats.

Catcher

Your red-bound yellow-letter boy,

pondering lost ducks, houndstoothe coats, and posh rebellion,

I am,

just the catcher

in your daydream fields of rye,

Holdin’ you close

until I return you,

to that phony thing you call your real life.