Two Poems by Robert Meehan

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Sappho in Pearls

The trouble with experimental cinema-

is not the way the titles

loom, their noses upturned

like a storm of black clouds

straightening their ties

or how the efficiency of their metaphors

compares with the aim of blind archers

rather it’s that

halfway through any of them

you start making wishes that the

young man with the troubled past,

alcoholic father, and

schizophrenic lover will

emerge from the screen

with the force of all his secret demons

to violently beat everyone

back in their seats

until nobody in the room remembers a thing

about neo-expressionist painting,

and the mousy girl that

you have had your eye on all night

realizes that

it was a bad idea

to major in the fine arts

as the clasp breaks

on a strand of her

great grandmother’s pearls

which slip off her thin neck

dancing wildly across the floor

and someone with far more sense

changes the channel to boxing.

Ninth Inning, Two Outs

Paul was a painter

which was his first mistake.

His second was thinking

his work was fresh and clever.

His third was a girl who sat for him

on Thursdays.

They made it in the studio,

and on the beach at night,

and once on the roof of a house party

in the rain

and Paul thought that all quite poetic.

And then she left him for a

minor league baseball player

who liked to make it in the backseat of the car

with his eyes closed

rough and quick

like he was sliding hard into third.


© 2013, Metazen.

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