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Apr/May 2001 Poetry

Two Poems

by Allen Itz


 

fever

I dream
of a glass house,
brightly lit,
a beacon amid
broad-trunked trees
in a dark forest,
velvet cushions
of brown and green
piled high
on all the floors

I am split in two,
one of me inside,
lounging
among the cushions,
and the other outside
peering in

there is something
we must tell ourselves,
we think, something
we must know

and we begin to shout
inside and out
but the glass is thick
and swallows all sound

frantic now

beware, we shout

beware

 

git along little dogie

hair,
soft and blond
as sun-bleached tassels
on summer corn,
hanging all the way down
to a sassy little ass
snuggled up in blue denim
tight enough to send mr. rogers
skipping
through the neighborhood
singing
heidee ho heidee hee

that was lily dee, best thing
about a little shitkicker bar
on the south side of san angelo
where me and toby shot pool
when we ran short of cash

me oh my,
what a treat
was lily dee

gave the cowboys
something to think about
on those hot july nights,
sweating alone
in bunkhouse bed

git along little dogie...
goddamn it
get along

 

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