David McLansky Poems

I grieve,
Not for the days
That are done,
But for the days
...

To my angry, shrewish bitter wife,
Who threw at me both pan and knife,
Who told me I was bound to fail
And end my life in debtor's jail;
...

That life was just a prison camp,
The circled shacks, the mud and damp;
The squinting eyes of prison guards
The lowered eyes kept down for yards;
...

In the sunlight,
An empty bench
Before your house
A ghostly sense;
...

I grip the handles of the oars
And gently pull us away from shore
Into the center of the stream,
I dip the oars hard and clean;
...

Daffodils bob on the hill,
The wind maintains its’ winter chill,
It turns their yellow heads to brown
And bends them early to the ground;
...

The paintings on the wall
Were witness to it all:
Two lovers
So enthralled
...

Safely she looks
Down
Upon us
From her parapet
...

Your crimson blush....

Your oceans flow....
...

I say this without a hint of malice

But I think of radishes
...