Saturday Night Poems

I ain’t bright
nor particularly peculiar
sans Saturday night

I drink alone
but for communion
and Monday backwash

I don’t echo
recon redemption
preach or petition

I half-ass barter
psyche for syllable
all the while aware
the life sentence



drunk on breaking news
I linger
ordering yet another,
brace it back.
a frown so hard
my brow acquires
yet another headline
a new wrinkle
a new image
too high to die
on details
I ask was God asleep?
maybe like in our image
early Saturday morning,
is no time to mind
the store,
or for that matter
the heavens


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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You Know You Want To Opine

last legs 4

sharing marginalia of the moment
with poesy pretensions on parade–
for over a decade

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