JOHN GREY

 

 

Unspoken Testimony

 

Not even the starving dogs come around.

They don’t trust my handouts.

What do they think I’m dealing with here?

Poisonous scraps of meat?

 

And the children, of course,

stay clear out of my way.

They’ve been listening to the warnings

of their moms and dads apparently,

those same parents who cross the street

to duck my outstretched hand.

 

Must be the black eyes and yellow teeth.

The broken nose is no prize.

Nor is the matted hair.

And the coat I wear

smells like a sewer in the sun.

I confess that I’d avoid me also

if I had a choice.

 

I walk these streets

because they’re the only home that will have me.

I sleep on benches,

in gutters when I get lucky,

score some cheap booze.

I’d tell you my life story

if I could only remember it.

 

At least the rats are still my friends.

We scour the same trash barrels,

take our darkness together.

I’ve been bitten more than once.

But I probably deserved it.

 

Here comes the cop on his beat.

He’ll hold his nose and move me on.

Third time this day.

I keep getting more and more illegal. 

 

WORK DAY 200

 

I showed up at the office

for the 200th time that year.

Same cubicle.

Same chair.

Same desk.

Same computer screen.

Same keyboard.

Same metal in-tray.

Same metal out-tray.

Different forms in both trays

but the same height,

same volume.

I made up my mind to quit.

Same conviction.

Same vacillation.

And for the 200th time that year.

 

JOHN GREY

 

JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, Trampoline and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.