Poems Times Six

By: Jack Wilson

Frida

Spitting out her beauty and disgust, --She jiggled ghosts and skeletons, --Emptied blood and I was there. --I cleaned up her mess, --I fed her dog and I made her bed. --I watered the garden by the pyramid --And it blossomed.

In life or death, I must see her again. --She’s just like me; --God and the devil --Wrapped up in one tamale.

Rome in a Day

Rome sits on its seven haunches --And the pines, with fountains in their branches, --Old road markers in the Appian sun, --Are stolid, green and well run. --A conservative morning begins with dawn --And makes its logical way as a pawn --Is moved one square at a time --To Noon. It seems all right, but I'm --Conscious of a skip in my heartbeat, --And the day pops like corn in the heat --Of a sudden three o'clock. The wrench --Of time ticks in my ears. I hunch --My watch into a shadow to hide --It's face from the white glare. Inside, --The gold hands turn green and catch --On the number six. I light a match --To see if they will stick there --As the fountains, with pines in their sprays, share --Their fate, dwindle and dry in the light --And Rome gets marching into the night.

A Swallow Speeds On

Morning: Two eggs, coffee with cream. --A fly noisily zigs and zags. --Noon: Ham and cheese on bread. --A butterfly silently flits and flits. --Evening: Steak and French Fries. --A hummingbird looks on while hovering. --Night: Four cookies and milk. --A bat menacingly zooms.

Tidepool

Invent the waves and vivid pools with me, --Cool, industrious, dibbling at our toes, --And let your knees snatch back at laps of sea. --Wade deeper toward the hole where seaweed grows, --Kick lively now, hitch up your sagging suit --And hold my hand. If you cannot see, --Loosen your grip, sit on my friendly foot, --Relax and let your hair float out to me. --I’ll pull you to a swirl for us alone --Where we can touch and float asleep or wake --And be content awhile with what we’ve sown. --To love where all we give is all we take, --As fishes waken from their restless sleep --To watch us drifting till we’re in too deep.

Medical Exam

Two soldiers, one all white, one all red, --Guard the north wall of the cubed room. --Squat, each with a pedal --To open the lids hands-free. --Fourteen inches square, fifteen high, --Steel with polished mechanisms, --Spare, utilitarian, --Made in Switzerland. --Plastic liner bags skirt the tops, --Peek from the edges of the covers --Like play-filled children unready for sleep. --The sentinels neither bark nor rattle. --They stand so white and so red --Keeping all predators at bay.

At The Center

"In Emergency Push To Open," --The automatic doors read on the unwashed, dribbly glass. --The further, outer door carries the same remark. --Between the first and second lies a cross-hatched --Block-built carpet, mole-grey brown. --The door to the entrance-garden has the same dribbles --And moves just as automatically. --Inside the inside, thick nurses, men and women, pad by. --Television gurgles softly, patients and personnel murmur, --Little clicks and taps identify heels and wheels, --Medical machinery and dropped tongue depressors. --Outside the outside, greenstuffs, and --Traffic tooting and squealing. --Between the inside and the outside lies a --Cross-hatched, block-built, mole-grey brown --Carpet.

Jack Wilson is a poet and artist from Los Angeles and Phoenix. His poems have been published in the New York Times, The New York Herald-Tribune and numerous magazine. He founded a poetry magazine in Tempe, Arizona called "All Too Soon", which was distributed at Changing hands Bookstore and other establishments.