My Wife, My Dog and all the sharp objects in my kitchen

I don’t know a hell of a lot

My wife talks

Tells me everything I want to hear

And quite a few things I do not

My dog on the other hand

Never says a word

She just yells when it’s time to go out

She gets that from my wife

If I fall down

Drunk

Hurt

Dead

Or any other mayhem

I know my dog will be there

She does walk the walk

My wife on the other hand

Does the talk

And I believe everything

Why would anyone lie?

But . . .

My dog always looks at me with adoring eyes

And kisses and licks my face

My wife on the other hand

Likes to hold sharp things

And smile at me

She says it’s her hobby

I should just take a nap and forget it

I’m just curious as to why I feel so tired

My wife just made me three cups of her extra special espresso

I’d hate to think I’m paranoid

Can that be fixed?

I Concede With Compliments

There is after all finality

A formal notice of concession

The fact of a formal state of brokenness

Exists

Has in fact for some time

This state and your recriminations of me

Had for a very long time

A very debilitating effect

My self esteem suffered needlessly

But I accept responsibility for that

But nothing stays the same

Certainly nothing good

Without effort

And for the longest time

None was expended

So here I sit

It is I who has said enough

I see what is broken

And with some effort could be fixed

But now it is I who doesn’t want to expend the effort

There are of course complications

But they don’t have the same urgency or importance

I think what is broken is beneficial

To me

And has been all along

My reflection in your eyes is opaque

I am not gloating

Certainly not happy

I am relieved

It is just that I feel that I have eaten a meal

With far too many courses

This has gone on too long

And now I just want to get up and leave

Everything Is True

Sometimes things come in dribs, drabs

And sometimes they arrive in subtle dribs and drabs

Like a stone falling on your face as you drive under a bridge

I’ve been called agnostic among other things

And this bewilders me

Not that I’m unfortunate and misunderstood

Because

I believe my poor performance as a communicator

As a painter and writer

Is the fault of only me?

Having said this

It is important

Today of all the rest of my days

That it be known to all who care

And could care less

I believe everything

This is not the most special of days

But it is a day

When I am filled with the wonder

Of all things that have passed me by

If for no other reason that I thought I knew

Or what was to be known

Was not at all worth my attention

So today I’m listening

Paying attention

And most of all

Take care of some important

And not so important business

Like every time I think to eat or drink

I’ll stop

And instead of consuming a substance of sorts

I’ll consume a belief

The truth of the matter

I have decided

Is irrelevant

—poems by Michael Mooney

 
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In order to submit your work for consideration, please send one to four poems to Metroland, 4 Central Ave., Albany, N.Y. 12210, attn. Poetry in the Paper. Please send each poem on a separate page, and please be sure to put your name, address and phone number on each page. Due to the large amount of poetry we have been receiving, we will not be able to return your poetry submissions, so please send copies—no originals! Poetry selected for publication will appear in the print version of Metroland and on the Web at www.metroland.net for the duration of one issue (one week). Poets whose work has been published will receive a $25 gift certificate to a local bookstore.

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