HER MORNING
Was it vodka,
Or a story by Kafka
That made her pregnant.
Was it the rock concert,
The music at Woodstock
That caused the miscarriage.
Why does she keep hearing cryin
g,
And why
Won’t that white circular thing stop the pain.
Why seek ultimate knowledge
When everything is utterly indeterminable.
Instead, think of the yard sale down the street
Where there are for sale
Clips from a film noir
That stars a blonde who jogs in a light blue suit
And carries a big stick.
The father might be still searching for a target.
He always carried
A long bow and a quiver of arrows.
He wears snow shoes, walks on snow,
But leaves no tracks;
For the snow spits his tracks back.
She would
After a bagel and lox for lunch
Go to the public library,
Read about Medea killing all her children
For revenge on Jason.
COMMUNICATION
We could see the night telephone wires,
But not the moon or the night sky.
Over the telephone wires was a thick covering of leaves.
For a tunnel had been cut through the tree
To send the telephone wires through.
We sat in darkness, could barely see each other.
We were hoping to hear a bird song, but no birds sang.
All were heard were the motors of passing cars
That with their opaque glass seemed to have no drivers.
I touched her hand, it felt like her hand.
She leaned her head on my shoulder, it felt like her head.
Her cell phone rung.
She straightened up, took away her hand.
If had not heard her speaking in low tones,
I would not even known she was there.
YOU CANNOT STOP PROGRESS
The new highway has moved
The houses closer to the cars.
The houses now shake a lot as if exotic dancers.
Vases, photographs, wine bottles tumble to the floor.
If the car and house door opened simultaneously,
The driver and the dweller could exchange places.
Social life has been augmented, many have been invited
To backyard cookouts, meeting when both doors opened.
One day, a man and woman met, and they talked
About a day in 1921 when the house was built
And the proper procedure for changing oil.
They married, planted carnations in an oil can.
Now, since the new highway, when houses
In their loneliness reach out to touch,
The houses never reach towards other houses,
But reach towards the roofs of passing cars.
LIVING INSIDE A WALL
I saw my reflection
In the bank building’s black plate glass.
I was inside the wall.
Yet, I was outside, buying a hot dog
From a girl wearing a blonde wig and blue bikini.
I did not know where I was.
To find out if I were outside I reached
To touch the hot dog seller,
But she jumped out of the way. I touched air.
I reached to touch the building.
I felt the cold black glass.
I must be inside the bank building’s wall.
This discovery did not make any difference
In the way I lived my daily life.
LOVE AT THE ABORTION CLINIC
She said that she did not understand me
As we, together, left the abortion clinic.
I was happy that someone was honest,
Wondered why I had come with her to the clinic.
I told her that I did not understand her.
She said it made her happy to discover an honest person.
She added that she did not understand
Why she came to the abortion clinic.
She said she was not pregnant;
At thirty-six was still a virgin.
We were in New York City, I suggested
We go to Atalia, buy a ticket to Rome.
In Rome, we could drink Compari together.
She said, “Wonderful, I can understand that.”
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 Duane Locke
2716 Jefferson Street
Tampa, FL 33602-16200
| Announcing: THREE NEW BOOKS OF POEMS By Duane Locke
[Duane Locke has renounced print publication to publish electronically. Duane Locke has over 4,000 poems published, over 2,000 in print publications, American Poetry Review, etc. and since September 1999, over 2,000 in e zines.]
1. Published in February, 2OO2, E book:
THE SQUID'S BLACK INK,
Published by Ze books (the publisher of poetry
For only 69 cents per book)
Contact: http.//www.blquanbeck.com.zebooks. Inquire:
NOVLNymph@aol.com or Ward708@aol.com
2. Published in February, 2002, E Book:
FROM A TINY ROOM,
Published in Spain by OTO' S E-BOOKS, http.//atotos.gksdesign.com/ebooks/locke or http://atotos.gksdesign.com/ebooks/buy1.htm or
http://www.atotos-ebooks.com
Inquire: guiam@wols.es.
Price: 5.60 Euros.
3, Forthcoming in April, 2002, E book:
THE DEATH OF DAPHNE,
Contains 50 poems never published before. To be published by 4*9*1, URL: 491.20m.com. Inquire: Stompdcr@aol.com Price $5.
Order the above through the internet.
[Duane Locke's 14th print book is still in print, WATCHING WISTERIA. Order from Vida Publishing via iod@ironoverload.org. Or order from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many others. Paperback, $9.95; Hardcover, $19.95]
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[BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in English Renaissance literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, was Poet in Residence at the University of Tampa for over 20 years. Has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander. Is author of 14 print books of poems, the latest is WATCHING WISTERIA ( to order write Vida Publishing, P.O. Box 12665, Lake, Park, FL. 33405-0665, or Amazon or Barnes and Noble). Since September 1999, he became a cyber poet and started submitting on-line, and since September 1999 he has added to his over 2,000 print acceptances with 1,195 acceptances by e zines.
He is also a painter. Now has exhibitions at Thomas Center Galleries (Gainesville, FL) and Tyson Trading Company (Micanopy, FL) Recently a one-man show at Pyramid Galleries (Tampa, FL)
Also, a photographer, has had 116 of his photos selected for appearance on e zines. He photographs trash in alleys. Moves in close to find beauty in what people have thrown away.
He now lives alone in a two-story decaying house in the sunny Tampa slums. He lives isolated and estranged as an alien, not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language (some form of postmodern English) of his neighbors. The egregious ugliness of his neighborhood has recently been mitigated by the esthetic efforts of the police force who put bright orange and yellow posters on the posts to advertise the location is a shopping mall for drugs. His alley is the dumping ground for stolen cars. One advantage
Of living in this neighborhood, if your car is stolen, you can step out in the back and pick it up. Also, the burglars are afraid to come in on account of the muggers.
His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.
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