Three Poems

by Michael Largo

"Goons" -- "Dinner Stop" -- "Detox"


Eclectic, collective and full of fear,
do you know any other limericks
we can sing while we drink
ourselves to death.

The mahogany bar with the stool
just right, a squeaky swivel at just
the best height. Come over here
and let me feed you another piece
of broken glass. Can't I just
have that stench sweated shirt
and ball it into a rat nest. What happened
to those blonde curls that chained
me with those velcro promises.
Dirty nails; lipstick smeared on your
face. Who do we see now when
we look passed the peanuts on a rack,
the bottles filled with amber glue.

Connective, corrective and spit in your ear,
do you know of any other rhymes
we can sing while we think
ourselves to death.

Dinner Stop

The high peaks are buildings
in dry light. There are cacti--
Roadside. Near: RED: Blue.
The pulsating strip with its ray
coming a needle in my vein.
Hot, humid air.
My cowboy boots make no dust--
Gravel sounds.
Have you ever seen a morning moon
so bright? A sliver really.
She asleep in the seat.
It's been running. Pushed back
silent she lies. Blond on headrest.
Laid so far back you begin to
see the meaning of the early
fossil fog. The echo of apes
in canopy of trees.
Now she will not wake. She
will never see burrito making.
Pollack through the bag.


Places you never thought you'd be;
it's a game, a quiz show. Addictions
for a hundred points.

Paper slippers and rear ended open gowns.
They would've shot us if we lived
in China. A snow covered

field, a rusted tractor, a crow on the
seat and one on the fender; they open
the blinds during quiet time.

I have nothing here, they took
my wallet, searched my bags, left me
with a peeling edged photo of my children.

There is a commotion down the
vinyled hall, a doctor and a swarm of nurses,
soft sneaky sponged shoes,

clipboards with prognosis tossed
like frisbees into the sky above a bottomless
ravine. Things don't look that good.

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