gershon hepner Poems

When I see the milkman coming,
I don’t experience an intending.
That logically is the upsumming
up messages that I’d be sending,
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More and more now married women cheat
no less than do their husbands. Oh, alack!
In offices––no need for bars––they meet,
and very soon they end up in the sack
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Said the actress: “Take a peek and
determine whether I am fecund.
If flesh is willing
I’ll be billing
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When you think you’ve said enough,
and the going gets too rough,
think of Delacroix who said
it’s not enough until you’re dead,
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If omissions are not accidents,
what’s included may not be
deliberate, and often makes less sense
than silence, best of derniers cris.
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Not forgotten or past over, though
the numbers simply can’t be comprehended,
which is the reason why we tend to know
far more about the way that Anne’s life ended
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Hard to find for prostate rhyme, and reason
won’t always correlate with scores of Gleason,
the bottom line not length of catheter
but of survival. Don’t let math deter
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That is the land of lost content,
I see it through a scrim
of memory that time has bent,
both indistinct and dim.
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Light verse can lighten with precision,
diminishing the gravity of laws
that weigh us down with indecision
by snatching humor from depression’s claws.
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Home is where they have to let you in
when you go back, said Robert Frost;
it’s the inclusion where you must begin,
but only end up if and when you’re lost.
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