First published in Issue 2, 2009
Three Poems Poems
by David Labounty
West of the Sun, East of Decay
a May morning,
the ozone layer nothing
but a steel curtain
that blocks the light
of hope and the sun
my wife,
with the utmost
drudgery and love
pours the kids’ cereal
while our caste
is repeated, while
the cartoon voices
echo off the ceiling
and the world.
The Last Page (or Something Hemingway Said)
there was a weekly ritual,
a dimming of the lights,
a closing of the blinds
and a pulling of the shades
and the teeth had to be
brushed and the
face had to be
scrubbed and
he said his wife’s
face while fucked
read like the last page
of a complex novel,
so many layers peeled
away leaving nothing
save sagging eyes
and crows’ feet and
lines of worry and
laughter, not unlike
so much bare-boned
architectural prose.
Foreclosure
the house
you left
behind is
like a
memory
that grows,
is growing
weeds in
the concrete
cracks and
flowerbeds
along with
the grass
that is no
longer tamed
by the
domesticity
waged by
a wife,
two kids &
a dog
and you
consider the
old neighbors
for a
moment,
especially
the fat lady
across the
street, her
round white
face like
a full and
fallen moon
glaring from
her picture
window,
telling her
narrow
husband
see,
I told you so.
Poetry by David Labounty © 2009