Here’s the thing: I’m not good at producing occasional poems with any regularity or timeliness.
But, after a relaxing holiday break that included some good reading, time with friends and family, a few good cups of coffee, a period or three of streamed junior hockey, and bunches of delicious beers, I seem to have come up with something resembling a New Year’s poem.
Here’s to 2017, whatever it might bring. Enjoy!
AGAINST THE NEW YEAR’S DAY HANGOVER
But I enjoy the idea of their shade
when the sun hits them right.
– Transit of Mercury by Dani Couture
When the sun hits them right, those empties
extant in their nesting of shards are less
a dull, throbbing reminder of last night’s poor choices
and excess, and more a loosely-curated drunk’s
afterglow, a showy blown-glass derangement
resting skew-countered, serrated, all edgily cornered
but softened somehow by fruit flies’ flittered near caul.
It’s the small things, after all. Especially
on mornings like this one when your piss and vinegar’s
turned and perverted–been swallowed, undone,
and inverted–to a vinegared distillate pissed at
the mumbling, curvilinear brink of the nauseous,
off-colour dawn’s waiting bowl, while
your near-useless hands semi-morse for purchase
against the sink’s brim or the unfinished skim
coat of that wall you’d sworn you’d get to.
Last night’s howls at the moon, now long gone
and cocooned somewhere in the Advil-gauzed
ale aphasias that stipple your brain’s stewing meat.
This new year’s a sudden 100 watt bulb,
weaponized; a light’s tenuous rhetoric aggressively
weighing the pros and the cons of the eyes’
newfound, ad hoc focus on what passes for promise.
Or for darkest fears. It’s all you can do,
at this waking moment, to blink; your jaundiced lids’
strobing–in the bleary, calendar-tossing AM–seems
an intermittent inconvenience of fact; a subconscious
bias, betrayed. The trick, of course, is learning–grudgingly–
to enjoy the idea of their shade.