Underwater One By Elaine Thomas




delbert is retiring



i've been writing about delbert,
or the collage delbert slaps together
over a nightly span of nearly 8 years

i've been writing about delbert
since he came to third shift after
the union made a deal to keep delbert

employed, at least, after his rather
disastrous career as chief electrician
blowing out fuse-boxes, welding

screw-drivers
& shutting the whole factory
down with his expertise

of 20th century electricity -- delbert
came to third
as a lowly utility worker

with a dangerous attitude
but he talked nuts
he was nuts

he foreshadowed oklahoma-bombing
he passed out militia materials
he listened, avidly, to his short-

wave radio at home avoiding all other media
he was

wild
stock-piling guns & ammo -- ruby ridge
occurs

waco
oh & so many more governmental conspiracies

delbert is
off the wall talking about
cloning in cuba, weird creatures...

but that is all in the past.
delbert is 62 & he's
retiring. he built a bunker

in the new york woods
trying for self-
sufficiency -- years working

on the problem of refridgeration --
"asparagas acts as a
natural blood-thinner," delbert

explains -- slamming the medical
profession -- adds hydrogen peroxide
to his milk to keep it fresh longer --

jfk junior was killed because
he was gonna spill the beans
about his dad & castro

there are clones down in the keys
below florida with heads
of birds but bodies of men

jews control amerika
delbert is rascist
hates clinton, is a

constitutionalist,
stock-piles
weapons in his bunker

in the woods
of lower
new york state

waiting
for the
fbi, the state boys, some

secret military
squad & if there's
a cunt there's a bullet

that'd
fit
it

i've been writing about delbert
for a long
time. i have grown

to
admire
him.






delbert's gone



delbert's last night
he's assigned as my
helper! on a ball-buster
of a job -- he's pisssed,
i can't help but yelp
a little laughter seeing his
face drain when he
walks over -- delbert doesn't
bolt -- the mix is sticky gummy crap
so he doesn't have to press it,
only cut & roll & weigh, only a
partial ball-buster of a job
delbert manages just fine
& i tell him again it's been
my honor to have worked with
him -- most men don't make it to
retirement
& he's done work most 25 year olds
can't goddamn do -- "it's a
victory," i tell him.
i shake his hand.
i have shaken the hand
of a political luna-
tic -- what conversations
we had in the past!
what poems
i wrote about
delbert!




the voice of the poet on the other side of the poem



feel like i'm almost there.
come a time a poem isn't a weed
fighting for glances from the sun
(readership: you for instance)
& no seeding shivers like wheat

no bristling orgasmic release
in breeze-laden afternoon
rolls eyes from here to eternity.
being a poet in amerika
is a curse -- let nobody fool you.

i just want left alone.
baby poets have suicide'd
for their art.
how very silly.
plath -- berryman --

list as long
as my cosmic
dick
figuring i
am god.

i'm the
one alive
here you
weird
oh

maybe a poem
is a record
of life
of the
spirit

maybe
it's fine
to be
space
dust, to be

embraced
by
telescope'd
searching
eyes

jesus
where'd
this
poem
go



- ron androla 2001