The dog could come in bleeding from a piece of glass
or pressure-cooked marinara sauce
could explode.
Marionettes could wave the communist flag.
A double-decker bus could go by
in London or eyes could sweep over
Matisse's 1911 studio.
its grandfather clock without hands.
Ladybugs could lay their eggs
on the tulips making up Mickey's
smile at the entrance to Disneyland.
The water at Normandy couldn't be documented in color.
The nurse could hold up the placenta
in the blue
plastic bin.
A railway car could go by
tagged by a blood.
And Clara Bow's lips
could have pressed
against the camera lens
as she wore
the matching boxing gloves.
J. Miller McIntyre
For this, I looked up a tube map...
Bank of America
The parking lot
smelled like London
when I was looking for bookshops alone
around Leicester Square
where there were racks of silk scarves
folded neat with bright pinks and greens and gold
two for fifteen pounds.
I touched them, watching the shopkeepers
not sure if I would give in
and buy one or two.
They were nice but
with the exchange rate
they were twice that in American dollars.
So instead, I took a wrong turn into Chinatown
smelling the cooking onions and
bok choy in vegetable oil. I cut through a shop
and went back out. Later, I found a copy
of Naked Lunch that I paid too much for.
Have I Mentioned?
In the fast food restaurant
out of the corner of my eye
sat a man, scruffily bearded
like you
with a baby carrier
and a woman, eating lunch together,
not unlike we were
just across the aisle.
The man had on a baseball cap
and would gaze into the car seat every few minutes
so much so
that he woke the baby up.
I know he did it on purpose
so he could hold the child
feed him
and tell him in an unhurried tone
that he was there.
As he lifted the child from the carrier
my attention turned toward the child’s toes
clothed in terry blue pajama feet
reminding me
of so long ago, our
now tall and brilliant son
kicking to the beat
of waking.
Professors of Other MFA Students Rock.
This poem was shared with me by my fellow EWU MFA-er Laura Ender. You can read it by clicking here. Enjoy!
I Tell Form to Kiss My Butt Tonight
Dropped Soup
Pulling the eggshell around the face
Thinking this is what Dali would do
Tear into something that breaks
And making it do what you want it too
Pressing parts that are broken back in place
When you don’t even care where they go,
Closing in when all is needed is the way out
Egg beater, egg whites
Meringue, yolk
Custard, melt the cream down
Find tough strings forming, toughen
Tight
Together.
Drop the pan.
Loud.
-J. McIntyre
Crazy Hummus Poem
Discussion in workshop on Tuesday on how to write about the physicallities of love lead to me giving myself a challenge. This is the result. (Insert Law and Order sound here)
Opening/Sealed
I fear I will turn into this hummus and his
hands will sink into my garbanzo bean skin
and stay too long.
Then, I won’t request them anymore.
His fingers will find the errors
the misplaced crumbs
an unmixed ingredient that adheres to his hand
and doesn’t wash away with the first
rinse.
I do not make a good paste for hands to
go within, even if only made
of five simple components–
the lemon juice will always sting.
-J. McIntyre
Posts
