UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY


JUSTIN HYDE

a minor rough patch

when the little thimble
full of magic
that keeps us going
runs dry

grown men
utter cryptic proclamations
in dark basements

pacing back and forth
holding a hammer
by the claw end

they make
empty promises
to the fluid between
their joints

and piss themselves
out of
childish desperation

nine days in a row

they call in sick
wondering
just how fast
they'll have to point
their four cylinder kia
at the corner of
the 235 underpass
to get the job
good

and done.


living an unmeaningful life in a worthless age

some occupy themselves
planting azaleas

repairing antique schwinns

or playing the lotto
daydreaming of
styrofoam utopia.

others
untie the purse strings
and prop up the lives of strangers
in zimbabwe
or darfur.

this one
here

gets drunk a-lot.

thinks himself
cavalier

jotting it
all down.


Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works with criminals. He has a web-page here: http://www.nyqpoets.net/poet/justinhyde







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