Only one pseudonymous poem in this batch.
Ten Things Nobody Must Ever Know About Me
One: I like nature.
Two: I listen to Abba.
Three: I voted for Reagan.
Four: I cycle through emotions in alphabetical order.
Five: I can recognize, all told, two
dozen birds, bugs and plants. Mostly
it’s “that green thing, that stingy thing.”
Six: I am immune to endorphins.
Seven: I would betray anyone
to make you like me.
Eight: Most of my friends are imaginary.
Nine: Not my imagination.
— Carl Bettis, 4/13/2010
A Curse Upon Them
May all the drawers in their houses stick.
May their dogs shed clumps, their trees
drop thigh-thick limbs on their cars,
their cats cough wet tumbleweeds.
May their shoes pinch and their pants chafe.
May they be allergic to rain.
May mad geese attack them, butterflies
flee them, bees despise them,
mosquitoes stalk them.
Those who climb by luck and steal the ladder,
those who fish for men from boats they don’t steer,
and turn to chum those they don’t devour.
May they always stay sober.
May they live forever.
— J.J. Pearse, 4/14/2010
There comes a point in your life
when have more days behind you
than before, and another when
you have more friends among the
dead than the living. Some of
those days sit waiting for you
to clean up their mess, some of
those friends still
expect your call.
— Carl Bettis, 4/15/2010