Two Poems From...

... our new poet laureate, Charles Simic.

* * *

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.

* * *

Late September

The mail truck goes down the coast
Carrying a single letter.
At the end of a long pier
The bored seagull lifts a leg now and then
And forgets to put it down.
There is a menace in the air
Of tragedies in the making.

Last night you thought you heard television
In the house next door.
You were sure it was some new
Horror they were reporting,
So you went out to find out.
Barefoot, wearing just shorts.
It was only the sea sounding weary
After so many lifetimes
Of pretending to be rushing off somewhere
And never getting anywhere.

This morning, it felt like Sunday.
The heavens did their part
By casting no shadow along the boardwalk
Or the row of vacant cottages,
Among them a small church
With a dozen gray tombstones huddled close
As if they, too, had the shivers.

* * *

(While Simic isn't a bad choice, next time, how about a woman and/or a person of color? Look at this timeline and you'll see--ta dah--mostly white men.)