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Beer Drinking Poetry Poetry Poems
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    Selected Poem
Horses Up the Road
His hearing was better than most –
Like the rat he kept in a cage,
Whose eyesight was poor –
Especially the higher frequencies
Of femininity and exuberance.

He doesn’t envy the horses,
Their playful gallop chasing.

They found her under the Christmas tree
In the dark, hours later, on April 13.
Don’t ask, he told himself.

The old man had left for church.
Left her alone to sometimes bend down,
To sometimes forget her place.

There are saints in this world, but few, he thought.
There are sinners, and many.

When he moved into this downstairs apartment
He checked for big things:
Heat, rent price, noises he’d make with new lovers,
Satellite TV, the hardness of the water.

Never thought the noise above –
Wheelchairs, grandchildren,
Those saints, everywhere watching,
Himself in their daughter’s prayers –
Would comfort and deafen him.

He was on the phone,
A surprise new three-hour conversation,
Begun simply enough
And turning to freeness and sex,
As it always seemed to for him,
As they later would always say,
“I can’t believe I just told you that.”

Sometimes he listens.
Sometimes he just hears.
Sometimes the wail of an ambulance is deafening,
Frenetic decibels,
Not necessarily high in frequency,
But well within his range.
Submitted: 4/14/2005 Printer Friendly
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