Guest Poet: Hurricane Isaac -- Cowboy Coffee

Most of the water came from the sink
A mockery of the apron to the jeans and T-shirt
It was sworn to protect
The shoes: dull leather spreading
From toe to-- he(a)el

Stand down

Roll a cigarette and lean
Against the door post

Soups on
An herbal mash of leaves and twigs
From whatever trees were up the street
Twelve or so blocks down

Will the water leave welts
Or red in the shape of the hand of a palm
And though it’s only slightly less wet inside
The velocity in which its propelled
Is significantly divergent

Ok, maybe you can stop the world
From going about its business
And watch the faces through the windows
Recall from memory how they used to smile
Used to frown
Used to tremble lips with nostrils flared

And eyebrows furrowed bridged and closed
With eyes that never missed
The opportunity to surprise

Not like now how they leveled forward
In a trance
Never moving
From their stalking glance

Never minding
What they saw

Never closing
Never flawed

It’s just business, after all
And you can’t stop business
From going about the world

And passing promissory notes
For broken promises

Shoot from the hip, cowboy

Sit around the fire
There are cowboy things to talk about
And these are cowboy times
And there is plenty
Of cowboy coffee

Guest poet: Hurricane Isaac -- Pull

The stranger went all through the house
And turned off every light
Even those in use
His excuse: He was trying to sleep
He was well into the next morning

 From inside they still hollered and bustled
Trying to take home the end of last night
The unreasonableness of each at their plight

 But prodigal or not the sun returned
And the house became flat and tepid
Those still within growled and deflated

 It was actually the sun’s fifth attempt
And each time they boiled

 Unnecessary rage, perhaps
But they couldn’t help how they felt
Any more than the elasticity of the cypress trees
Granted them just one more dance

 Look, the horizon is vertical now
There’s no sense in arguing with the dynamics
Of polar skews
When there’s no other good reason
That water would fall from
Just down the street

 There’d be no condensation if it weren’t cold to begin with
The elements at each other, they tug

 Pull

 Look, just pull on it

 There’s tension now

 They’s sick, they’re tired
They’re not sleeping much these days

 Try to unwind them
Only to see what they’re made of

 Pull

 Not too hard now

 Even a slight tug
Will create tension

 Now open your eyes and
See what you’ve done

 It’s OK
Turn the lights off if you

 Need your sleep

Scavengers

It’s pretending to rain now
And you can see the huddled crowd
Beneath the tree-branch awnings
As they retreat to dryer surroundings;
Or so they pretend

The drops they feel,
Splashing,
Touch the faces
That look toward the heavens
And pray for a placebo.

They are scavengers
Looking for the scraps of faith
Others left behind,
And with their crumbling hands
They pick the city dry.

It’s pretending to be prosperous now
And all my friends cup their hands
To catch the coins which trickle down
And pluck the coupons from the sky;
Or so they would believe.

They are proper citizens.
They wait for it pour
And would not dare to bother with
A little something more
For fear that they would ask too much.

And all that charity
Which by allowance they’re to live--
The means of their allotted sum--
Is a dream that if they buy just one
The other will come free.

I’m pretending to be a beggar now
And I can close my eyes and see the faces
Rushing with imaginary rain
Because their broken shelters
Can’t occupy one more.

And all the outstretched arms
Are to embrace all that we have,
As little as it sometimes seems,
And overwhelming as a needy child
Agreeing with that which we’ve tried;

Imaginary friends plucked from
All the molded faces
That I’ve ever known.
We’re pretending to agree now
That it’s just a little storm