First Jeffrey Express*
Poem By Donna Ialongo
a false spring
made the bus's fumes quiver
in false delight.
a silent smiled good morning
and the companionship of the first face,
chocolate and white,
matched the choking of the money machine.
i did not dirty his hands.
the other i faced
had sunk his nose and his mind
i sat (on the soon to be lake side) .
those who could talk to those socially acceptable
sighed through divorce, extramarital money,
and what to wear to the sophomore dance.
the crazy woman did a dance
holding her transfer like a conquerer
much to the liking of me, a lake,
bigger than the smallest of fishes
and deeper than all gods - but one -
comes as a wedge between us -
me and the driver
me and those who won't sigh
to the wailings of a newborn sun.
me and my home.
the lake is every poem.
she is the blot of life.
the mouthpiece of inherited spittle.
a woman who cant make up her mind what color she is.
she mothers a sun in morning
and spawns almost always a premature moon in darkness.
i live from her constant death.
and in final separation
i am no longer all poets