What the Girl with a Lazy Eye Did


If you haven't kissed a man who has no teeth,
the girl with a lazy eye did in a bar where
the keep's brow was tattooed by sleepiness.

She had an umbrella though there was no rain,
only a drunk barking at the wind,
a movie poster with a corner ripped
and hot water through a rusted pipe
that let off enough steam for her to watch

rise whenever she tilted her head back
to let his gums comb one side of her neck.




A Red Letter November


Everything that will mean nothing in the next life
is under control: debt piled onto one credit card,
dress shirts pressed. I quit smoking, spent two weeks

in Chicago, the dead have a history of voting,
Nixon didn't stand a chance, I bet he wept;
November does that, makes even an asshole cry

for God knows what – I want to press charges
against the rake for clumping the dead
along the curb. I give a third
of my pay, my teeth are white, that's not enough

I'm told – it's a red letter autumn, it resembles affection,
it reeks of need. I can't even trust the dumb ones; Clinton
couldn't cover his tracks, he knew nothing

about lawn keeping, for every stone unturned
there are three worms, they surface after a rain, it's a way
to breathe, they protest in moving traffic, they lie

in God's hands, I am filled with dread, maybe
it's sleepiness.




Crammed in a Downtown Train to 34th Street This Morning


I begin by looking at everyone's fingers to see who's married,
who graduated from school and who works under a hood

to make end's meet. I have a routine: throw my hands
in the air, grab a pole, breathe in, breathe out, move in and

step back in the hip, lodge and sway of a sliding door –
ain't this a bitch, a fucked up bitch, a futz and a stitch

to read the paper or tear back a coffee lid. I don't
carry much outside of a duffle bag and a bit

of hope for snow so sleepiness can have its way
with me, there's a chance yet, I bought a lottery ticket,

I played the rosary: one Our Father, fifteen promises,
two of three mysteries, mostly sorrowful, even glorious

at times, there's just enough room to stretch an arm.



- Frank Matagrano 2001