Blind
"The sight of my blind man makes me want to weep."
-James Wright, From "Goodbye to the Poetry of Calcium"
in a letter of resignation
I told a boss that he was
blind to his own blindness
it seemed like the most
righteous thing I had done
highlighting the faults
and walking out of the house
I was blind to my arrogance
proud of my false good deed
I hadn't cared enough to
stay, make things good
this should be
the point I proclaim
how much I care and walk
with the blind everyday
helping them to be good
I cannot
Brown Bag Christmas
The wretch is hypothermic
gloves without fingers
shoes without soles
many smells of decay
finds himself fortunate
in finding a five dollar bill
salvation in a bottle of
Thunderbird or Night Train
shelter in a drive-thru overhang of
a defunct savings and loan
drunk maintained
screws the cap back on
preventing stale salvation
he doesn't die, he hasn't died
after years existing on pavement
survived beatings by homeless others
beatings by cops and kids
preaching of the righteous, the pious
hidden from political machines
that rove the night air hunting his meat
booze is cheap medicine
an overcoat against angry
howling frozen bipolar winds
Tonight the stars are apathetic
no longer beacons
of wise men and kings
their breath a winter wind of despair
My pocket less five dollars, tonight
It was all I could do
Golden Gate Bridge Blues
1.
And so we go there
on a Friday afternoon
sunny after rain
taking Dr. Tim to the gate
of that this thing
the gatekeepers go red
and green with currency
wind tossing our hair up and
out like the fantasy suicides
each hair pretending to jump
2.
the traffic roars with hustling
nobodies going home who
stare at us like alien vagabonds
3.
all around us the paint is
chipping and the steel is worn
I think about the big one
that earth belly rumble rocking
--what would I do--
grab a cable and hang on
or I spread my arms swan
dive in perfect form
Jo says I shouldn't talk that way
about death, disaster, swan dives
Looking down gives me a rush
dizzy head vertigo -- I can't
do it for very long
4.
you gotta get a picture
with you and the pyramid
It's the touristo thing to do
I want a cloud or fog
something interesting
instead of sky blues
5.
we stare at Traz island
out there lonely with no prisoners
or Indians to occupy it
6.
On Vista Point
someone has carved into the wall
"Berta Grande" which tens of thousands
of tourists have run their fingers
over and read, then said
"Big Bertha"
--poor woman--
to have her name ridiculed a thousand
times a day by the bridge of suicides
Dancing Bear is of Chippewa and Swedish ancestry. He lives
in the San
Francisco bay area. His poems and art have been
published in many
journals, including New York Quarterly, Zuzu's Petals
Quarterly,
Slipstream, Pearl and the Rio Grande Review.
He was a contributing
editor of Disquieting Muses and the editor of a number
of books and
chapbooks. Dancing Bear currently works for Toth
Press as Managing
Editor.
Return to Poetry
Return to Index