Three Poems by Richard LeDue

 

Waiting for the Sun

The worms know enough not to drown in the rain,

but don't think of the hungry robins

waiting for the sun.

A cat, looking out the window,

stretches, as if it won't chase 

those same robins, and one will lie

half alive, half dead in a feline jaw

that still remembers who's prey

after thousands of years of belly scratches.

This is the part of the poem where I'm

supposed to bite you

with some wit about death,

yet all I want to do

is listen to the raindrops

and pretend another summer isn't almost over.

*

An Unhealthy Relationship

The universe is giving us the silent treatment,

always has-

the argument lost before we were born,

and dead stars allowed to tell lies

about light in a dark sky.

We eventually start talking

to ourselves on how our neighbour has dirty windows,

while another is obsessed with a telescope,

which we assume peeps into our homes

(reading our mouths when we're not looking)

without a word of proof.

The black space above us

listening, or at least we'd like to believe.

*

I often imagine

Charles Bukowski asleep drunk,

cursing poems like these in his dreams

only to wake up,

remembering nothing and starting over again. 

Then there's those who leave wine bottles

on Bukowski's grave, which makes me wonder

how many grave diggers have thanked Hank

for the free booze at 5 AM,

while the worms perform their own art,

quietly and unconcerned

about book royalties 

and how we fail to digest the dead. 

__

Richard LeDue was born in Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada, but currently lives in Norway House, Manitoba with his wife and son. His poems have appeared in various publications throughout 2020, and more work is forthcoming throughout 2021. His chapbook, “The Loneliest Age,” was released in October 2020 from Kelsay Books.