Four Poems

Here are four poems that I penned and were published in the first (and so far, the only) issue of The Locket, the literary folio of The Chain. A little background: That issue (2008) revolved around the seasons, having four divisions for poetry (one for each season), plus a section on prose and contributions from the alumni. The fate of this folio is uncertain, given the direction that the current staff seemed to have taken.

Asphalt Roads

They tremble, these coupes, like pigs

trapped in muddy sties, doomed to

taste the sinless kiss of the razor.

Eyes meet where the yellow lines lay

in muted slumber; feet step on the

cotton beds frozen by a grumble.

The red hand flares, the wheels pause.

Staring continues where motion halted,

while lips lock in the highway of souls.

The departed leave the rosy petals,

while the engine mourns the debris

of a grave the thread of time choked.

Earthly singsong melodies mash the

rumbling voices, a jade hand heralding

the zigzag of letters on the asphalt road.

I Fell for Her – I Mean, Him

My heart stops

every time I meet her

at the hallway during recess.

Marble tiles and dirty-white walls

turn to sand and bamboo

when she passes.

That fragrance,

that long, dark hair,

swiveling hips that punch the soul.

Eyes – male, female – worship her

when she walks by in her

silky Gucci dress.

Yesterday, however,

my heart broke as I strolled

along the park (I had followed her).

Last I saw my girl, she was holding

hands, kissing and groping

with some other guy.

I squinted

through faux shards and panes:

tattoos, short spiky hair, piercing.

Tears leaked from my eyes.

A candle reformed.

… Ah, the majesty of four

jagged peaks at a distance.

The Nicest Place in Town

Neon flashes brighten the

otherwise sordid quarter.

Laughter on one sidewalk, much

strutting on the other, lipstick stains

and nail polish plus a couple of

unbuckled belts – the

cheap perfume pervading the air.

Faint footsteps join the smiling

and prancing: the warm embrace of

vixens at the nicest place in town.

The rooster crows to the ceiling

with its faint, spaced-out leer.

Read: Me Not Dumb

It has been

two days

since you bade

goodbye.

Well, a slap on the face

and four teary eyes

don’t really make

a nice goodbye,

do they?

My cheeks are still sore, mind you.

And violet.

A garnet slash

on my cheek

is all there is

to remind me

that you

like

your fingernails

sharp

and

pink.

Bloodshot eyes

poured down buckets –

enough to dampen

my Garfield pillowcase

and Spiderman comforter

for days –

on that snowy evening.

But after you slammed the door

on that frosty night,

with me standing dry

in my polka-dot pajamas

at the dimly lit foray,

I know you smiled

and inhaled the night air

heavily.

Darling, I’m not dumb.

I’ve known for months.