Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Two ghost poems

My father’s birthday was April 25th, so this is his week.  We are all thinking of him in our own ways.

These are old poems, and I was going to include a whole bunch of apologies and whatnot for not being gardening-related or childrearing-related, but hey, I’m making ZERO money from this blog, and the fame isn’t that much ahead of that zero mark.  So read them or not; it’s okay by me.

Ghosts 1: Skeleton Birthdays

There's not a month

that passes now

without a few

the year is littered with them

friends who have moved

on, leaving only

their birthdays

fossils in my mind.

They will dig me up

years from now and probe

my brain.

What is all this?

The sacred

birthday burial ground.

 

Ghosts 2: Haunted Numbers

The telephone number I need

Springs to mind

Bubbles up

Eager to be of use

398-8520

 

So familiar; this must be

the right one

I almost dial, but my fingers

Stroke the keypad

Sketch its delicate right angles

Tracing out the pattern

Puzzling

Something isn't right

 

Is that you again?

The telephone number hangs its head

Ruefully

Ashamed

to belong to my dead grandmother

 

disconnected three years now

Ashamed

to be useless now

Resorting to trickery

So I will not forget

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