UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY

DAN PROVOST

Pop's Perch

I’m sure the old man looks down from
His perch in the after–life and thinks:

Son you didn’t do so bad…as he takes a
Sip from his Carlo Rossi Vin Rose wine.

You could have been a bank robber or
a murderer he mumbles to himself,

But you ended up working in this
here college…talking to kids about
school…

Writing up some good and not so
good poetry…

I never understood that poetry stuff—or
why you never joined the army like I did.

You never had any kids either, why?

But, I guess the loner life was for you.

You get that from your mother.

Yea, I’ve seen you violent—hitting people
at dive bars and all…also seen you cry when
you’re alone…

Could never understand why part of you was so sad?

But, you did your best…cared for people who needed it.
Gave a damn, couldn’t say I would give five bucks to a
Beggar.

But that’s what you are son—your soul far outweighs the
pain you seem to walk with everyday.

Take some of the paths I took in life Dan, others, just leave be.
No reason for you to go there…just keep walking towards this
Thing you seem to be searching for.

God help me I never found it…maybe you will


To That Same Lonely Kid at Assumption College

I wonder if he knows I wrote
a poem about him.

Advertising his loneliness with
cheap adjectives about longing
(for anyone to talk to.)

I’ve been there, cavalier of hurt.
Wanting to express sanely hunger
within

He holds black rosary beads and prays
in front of the Virgin Mary; wanting
to forgive those who laugh at him

He still is no dedicated follower of fashion, but
a wounded apostle.

Knowing God’s will is sometimes hard to follow.









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