Morgan Michaels Poems

The first time I told my father
that I intended to become a poet, come what may,
like John Greenleaf Whittier and many another
it was the morning of the day.
...

'Well, well', he smiled, 'is that so'.
inviting me to look into his glittering, prescient, black eyes-
so much like mine, that said, like mine
'I am not what I seem'.
...

'Whose fault was this, anyway'?
'Nobody's', I assured him. 'Melpomene's'.
'Whose'?
'Melpomene's'.
...

I am afraid of the idol in showcase three
and want to walk quickly away, but can't;
the little fellow compels my stare-
my hair stands up, I'm rooted in place.
...

'I must have you, come home with me,
I have such plans for you, you see, '! An equally

plausible theory, but which is true I don't know,
...

To market, to market
Without a great sack
Of cotton or muslin
To tote your truck back
...

It's a beginning we all love
more than a middle or ending
the impetus that prompted us
fails, itself expending.
...

Told of the hawk on the rail
friends wink.
'A hawk? In the Barrio'?
Not knowing what to think
...

But there it was again-
glimpsed over the shoulder
today while shuffling the new mail
airborne this time, wings outspread
...