John Grey

THE POEM THAT SAYS SORRY

Dawn discovered me,
at the end of previous night,
down a slope by the side of the road,
double-crossed by thirst.

Stomach handcuffed,
gaze stupid,
accused by my conscience,
laughed at by the field sparrows –

I was man as nothing more than body,
swollen in some places, rubbed raw in others,
in the arms of a ditch,
when they could have been a woman’s.

What can I say?
I was restless. I was bored.
I shined myself up
and went looking for alcoholic favors.

But drink did me none.
Merely heavied my head like lead.
Lit up my chest with whiskey fire.
Beat up on my guts, barely let them live.

I’m sorry dear.
I should have been with you.
But you were in your dreams.
And I was true to life.

JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN’T KNOW

I am from a different
English language.

Even now, when I’m writing anew,
I’m confronted by old phrases.

The spelling, the pronunciations,
will always be here,
for imagination
is as much echo as creation.

My birthplace doesn’t betray me,
but it relies on my thoughts for survival.
And it speaks with an accent broad enough
to let in daylight from the other side of the world.

So pardon me my colour, my theatre,
the “sh” in my schedule.
my round red tom-ah-to,
and the petrol in my tank.

I may look like you
but my voice is from another place.

I do my best to disguise it,
but it’s like some people in this country.
Even to save itself,
it won’t wear a mask.

REACTION

If a gunman came down the road snarling
and pointed his revolver at your chest
and said to you, “Here, choose,
would you like it in the gut, the heart,
or the head
whichever is the quickest,
though it don’t bother me
one way or the other,”
would you stand there
and mutter something like,
“Go ahead and pull the trigger.”

A woman expresses her love
right there in your presence,
first with her eyes, then
with words themselves,
and you ought to be stunned
but you’ve always been
prepared for the situation,
so you take it all in,
then softly, deliberately,
whisper, “I love you too.”

In other words, the gunman
doesn’t realize you’re armed as well,
reach for your weapon,
shoot him in the chest.

No need to pick the woman
up off the floor.
She’s overjoyed.
That’s nowhere near dead.
The bang is silent
but deadly.

~~~

John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident, recently published in New World Writing, California Quarterly, and Lost Pilots. Latest books – Between Two Fires, Covert, and Memory Outside the Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, LaPresa, and Doubly Mad. John was first featured in 2020 and then again in 2022. You can click HERE to review them. Selected pieces of his work were published in The Short of It – Volume 1 – The Sound of Brilliance and Volume 2 – Reflections & Revelations. This is his second feature this year.