Poems
Susan Michalski
Brother Poet
The boy on the bicycle
with his head bent against the wind
hair dripping and
dingy-brown like yours
glasses fogged over
passes in slow motion
I call out to him
“Hey! You on the bike,
Brother, Please
come back drink coffee
complain of its bitterness
wax blasé about the State
of affairs, argue
in docile terms about one
thing and another now and
again
slip in a German phase let
the afternoon wear on till
we switch to beer or
whiskey then I’ll
watch poetry fall off your
tongue onto the sticky table
Roll the words
Into sentimental stories
we can smoke
You’ll pocket the ashes
Throw your messenger bag
over your left shoulder and nod
the water spraying up behind
The back tire of the bike
as you ride across the ocean
I will wish you back
The very next moment
And every day
It rains
Fall Leaves
i tell you that i am
invisible
as we crunch through
the crystal crisp autumn
evening
if i take off all my clothes
you won’t be able to see
me
you laugh so hard the trees
shake
i slip my arms from my
jacket
unzip my jeans, peel them down
i don’t wear underwear
anymore
what would be the point
the paz de resistance
throw
my hat to the wind
watch it fly into the branches
your eyes search up and down
the
street
i scream, jump up and down
no longer
laughing
but how can you hear
with the wind
whipping
you back away
finally turn and
run
i reach up for a handful of leaves
they slide so easily from the
bough
crunch
delightfully in my fist;
“told you
so.”
don’t lick the Frogs
