POWER
Don't know why I bother
openin' the door ina morning.
Nothin' but a rush of hot heavy air.
No matter who's there, it all stinks.
I'm done with polite.
I ain't givin' no more.
Go away, I say day after day.
An' it works. Nobody there no more.
That's what I call power.
If I said, come on in,
where would I be now, huh?
HUNDRED FOOT WELL
Maybe I'm lonely, I dunno.
I spend a lot time by myself--
hey, who doesn't? Think again.
'cept for guys in jail in lockdown,
maybe no one. Well, what about
them monks that don't talk?
I mean who's my peer group?
Jeez, I hate to think it's just me.
Now I know I don't wanna be in the slam.
Maybe I oughta been one of them monks.
They got good food, right? Plenty of wine.
No pussy though. But to tell the truth,
I ain't gettin' that much, an' if I don't lie,
it's more like none. But still . . . .
Instead, I hear they got this quiet
inside them like a hundred foot well
where if you got a thought it drops like a pebble,
makes one sound, spreads some circles,
then all's still, dark, deep again.
Hmmm.
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Stashu Kapinski, the guy who wrote these poems, is a sometime bum living in my skin. He doesn't get out much, but when you hear (and smell) him, you know he's noone else. He's pissed about a lot of things--being out of work for so long, the steel mills in Pittsburgh closing down, getting old, the price of beer, you name it. But he hasn't given up. There are still moments when he feels like the King of Polish Hill.
After 10 years as Professor of English and Creative Writing at the University of the Virgin Islands, St. Thomas, Joseph Lisowski is now teaching at Mercyhurst College North East along the shores of Lake Erie. If you look real hard, you can find him sticking on the web in spots like Thunder Sandwich, Niederngasse, Serpentine, Wired Art for Wired Hearts, Born Magazine, The Isle Review, Free Zone Quarterly, etc.
poetry editor New Works Review |
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