I.)
Driving on Route 16.
Snow drifts melting from
the accepted winter.
Trees spitting out memories
of last week’s storm.
Fluffy bombs splattering—
Washer fluid,
sand killing
windshield.
The Smithereens on the CD player
Mid/late 1980’s techno-riffs…
Lyrics reaching to lovelorn
twenty somethings…
Who wanted to be cool and
college lounge
sophisticated…
Reminisce--
rain filled sex life that leaked
out of worship.
Too many sighs in rhythm with the wind…
Remembering that Lithuanian girl
with the exquisite eyes and courtly
legs—
Who tempted my mid teen/early
adulthood fantasies with hope
of unruffled, fashionable love.
The one with the same sense of
humor as you…
Stoned, within your shanty…
Making out…but not taking
anything future at face value.
The Smithereens, the Del Fuegoes,
pre grunge, too clever for
hair band, makeup
nonsense.
But I digress.
Sounds from a desperate
past are only poor word
games.
Rhyming heartbreaks.
That hindered the process
of a trudging world.
No time for emotional
courtrooms out there.
II.)
Back to early February…
2021
Christmas is way in the
rear view mirror.
Break from the silly
season is officially over.
If not already noted and
accepted—seeing those
lazy ass Mom and Pop stores,
who refuse to take down
the lights/ wreaths.
Dewey/I need a drink,
right now
in a mid-winter sunlit bar.
3:00 PM.
Feel the travesty of afternoon rummies.
Few survivors present… on a trodden Sunday.
Waiting for the thieves, jokers and
crows-feet to grind their
ass tomorrow.
Jaunts into poignant, inner memorabilia
are nice.
But eventually fade
as Dewey/I take that
first shot
of blatant
honesty.
Driving on Route 16.
Snow drifts melting from
the accepted winter.
Trees spitting out memories
of last week’s storm.
Fluffy bombs splattering—
Washer fluid,
sand killing
windshield.
The Smithereens on the CD player
Mid/late 1980’s techno-riffs…
Lyrics reaching to lovelorn
twenty somethings…
Who wanted to be cool and
college lounge
sophisticated…
Reminisce--
rain filled sex life that leaked
out of worship.
Too many sighs in rhythm with the wind…
Remembering that Lithuanian girl
with the exquisite eyes and courtly
legs—
Who tempted my mid teen/early
adulthood fantasies with hope
of unruffled, fashionable love.
The one with the same sense of
humor as you…
Stoned, within your shanty…
Making out…but not taking
anything future at face value.
The Smithereens, the Del Fuegoes,
pre grunge, too clever for
hair band, makeup
nonsense.
But I digress.
Sounds from a desperate
past are only poor word
games.
Rhyming heartbreaks.
That hindered the process
of a trudging world.
No time for emotional
courtrooms out there.
II.)
Back to early February…
2021
Christmas is way in the
rear view mirror.
Break from the silly
season is officially over.
If not already noted and
accepted—seeing those
lazy ass Mom and Pop stores,
who refuse to take down
the lights/ wreaths.
Dewey/I need a drink,
right now
in a mid-winter sunlit bar.
3:00 PM.
Feel the travesty of afternoon rummies.
Few survivors present… on a trodden Sunday.
Waiting for the thieves, jokers and
crows-feet to grind their
ass tomorrow.
Jaunts into poignant, inner memorabilia
are nice.
But eventually fade
as Dewey/I take that
first shot
of blatant
honesty.
Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years. Some recent publications include: Ariel Chart, Poetical Review, Merak Magazine, Oddball Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Misfit Magazine, the Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and the Dope Fiend Daily. He has two books coming out in 2020. Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press and Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.
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