The faster kitchen works

or why you should never write poems about ideas
by mike swanberg


1.

mostly you circle the drain,
pull your hair across your face.
when i catch myself catching myself
in the mirror i try and look surprised

it's best not to say what a poem is going to be about
although all day my mind licked its chops for you
and i said "just this once you arent a dog"
and i meant that.

then an afternoon to forget what i should have been writing.
cold chicken/ iodized salt/ half glass of water/ forgotten apple.

if you get lucky the poem makes a late jump into the literal

i bump into my neighbor on the train
he wants to talk to me about self control
but he cant control himself enough not to

we shake hands hello
we shake hands goodbye
i tell him stop by any time

it feels like i should have sold him something.



2.

the street looked all bombed out today
and on the train someone talked about violence
from a distance

i watched a grown man with his arms out balance
up a jungle gym and then hop off pleased
i wanted to clap but my hands fell off in my pockets
holding tightly onto my phone

i wasnt expecting any calls but still
and since i already started ---> the difference
between poetry and lunch is saying iodized salt
instead of salt, forgotten apple instead of apple i forgot

wait, taste my fingers -- wait.

its almost winter and the squirrels will start holing up
in any crack they can find while the pigeons
still keep putting their jeweled necks on the line.