Donal Mahoney Poems
|1481.||Looking For Work||10/4/2012|
|1482.||My Therapist's A Lady||5/30/2013|
|1483.||Cops And Robbers||5/29/2014|
|1484.||The Farmer's Daughter||4/8/2013|
|1485.||A Good Neighbor||9/4/2013|
|1486.||Just The Sheep And The Goats And The Shepherd||5/4/2014|
|1487.||Found In An Attic: World War Ii Letter To A Wife||6/6/2014|
|1490.||Letter To An Estranged Middle-Aged Son||5/4/2014|
Wilbur's always lived
in the navel of society,
lost in the lint
of the middle class.
His parents lived there too.
So will his children if they
fail to win the lottery.
Not a problem for Wilbur.
From his navel he can
see the poor sweat
at jobs they died for.
When he looks up
he can see the rich bet
on stocks and then relax
with wine and caviar.
That's the way the world works.
Wilbur's father told him
it's always been that way
and always will be.
And like his father
Wilbur knows the world
will always have ...
The New Morse Hotel
Chicago, circa 1970
What if after Browne has gone
one of us discovers who Browne was,
leads the rally to his room before
the maid has time to broom the webs,
retrieve from underneath the bed
the sweat-stiff socks, the lemon underwear?