Thunder Sandwich
#17

Poetry
2 poems by Richard Fein

dweeb by jeff filipski
dweeb by jeff filipski

OVERGROWTH

The plot is destined to be overgrown.
Weeds will cover the headstones with shame,
like the fig leaves of Adam and Eve,
our Adam and Eve, my sister's and mine.
It's not the principal,
for I have the cash for the annual maintenance fee.
It's not for any principle,
for my reasons for not tending the graves might seem shallow
when weighed against the Fifth Commandment.
But an echo of an Electra play unfolds,
casting me in an unwanted supporting role.
I pleaded with my sister, "For the sake of our father,
half and half, you cover dad's side and I'll cover mom's."
I marveled at my sophistry.
But like Lot pleading for Sodom, all I can finally do is not look back.
Weeds were fated to grow over that ancient city,
and its daughters destined to no longer act like daughters.
Forgive me father for what I will not do.
Nothing must entice me back to this place,
for then each Fall I'd have to stand before them again,
before mother and daughter,
and under the hum of nearby passing cars,
once more hear the cries and shouts.
Once again I'd cover my ears trying to bar the exchange of bitter curses
that already haunts my brain.



HEISENBERG'S UNCERTAINTY

"In quantum physics the observer alters the observed.
Reality is a fast choreography of photons."

In human light,
I observe
a quarreling couple; they see me.
Voices lower, they back away into shadows.
I observe lovers.
They see me;
she puts her blouse in proper order.
Does bearing witness reveal a truth seen,
or a truth created?


While I'm standing on a street corner,
what cosmic events are changed
by my meddling eyes?
Do I end a tryst, or begin one,
prevent a crime or cause one somewhere else?

Do feet standing on a crossroad detour the path of an ant?
Even the truth-seeking hermit needs to be watched by curious eyes.
Why else does he bother avoiding them?

How long can I gaze into a mirror
and resist fixing even an out of place hair?
How long can I accept what I see,
when what faces me grows older,
and slowly, slowly, decays?

< Back

ISSN: 1534-4037