May 6, 2024

Tony Gloeggler

ALL OF THEM

Down Syndrome Larry, my favorite
guy in the residence, the perfect
blend of Pillsbury Dough Boy
and Charlie Chaplin, all gap toothed
grins, warm cuddles and charm
bowing to kiss my aunt’s hand
when she gave him a silver dollar
the Christmas I brought him home,
pirouetting anytime a pretty girl
walked by on Smith Street. Making
faces, silly sounds for store owners,
the free zeppoles, black and white
cookies, Italian ices rolled in. Robert,
nicknamed Notre Dame after
the hunchback, bouncing along
like a string puppet and smiling
constantly, saying hello to everyone,
thank you, whenever someone
did anything, answering yes
to every question posed his way,
always got extra help, the most
attention from new workers. Others,
like Jimmy, never had a chance.
Hulking, plodding and drooling
like a fountain that never granted
anyone’s wishes, grabbing your arm,
only letting go after a tug of war,
his spit drying on you, stinking
the rest of the day. Still, Ethel,
Jose, Riviezzio loved him best
while I shook my head, baffled.
Be careful with James, the silent
type going about his business, big
and powerful, quietly creating
collages or scrolling on his iPad,
sweeping the floor, doing laundry,
emptying the garbage. Easy to forget
the times he exploded, overturning
his desk, the refrigerator, hurling
utensils at the ceiling lights, cracking
his teeth chewing on the area rug
in a rage. Still, he was the top
draft choice whenever anyone
wanted Dunkin’ Donuts, a soda
from the corner bodega, or took
a ride to fill up the van, pick up
prescriptions, the perfect guy
to sit shotgun, tap along to whoever’s
favorite station, carrying packages
and opening doors. Then there’s John.
Visitors, acquaintances love him.
He remembers everyone’s name,
smiles all the time, makes cocktail
conversation like he’s running
for office, never admits he had
a bad day, takes five minutes
to ask a question, twice as long
to make a decision. Sometimes,
I get so bored with him I need
to scream. I’m tempted to tell him
to shut the fuck up, never come
to my office except in an emergency
until I remember the time I stood
at the top of the staircase, heard him
grumble his way down about all
the fucking bullshit he puts up with
every damn day, that fucking Tony
breaking his balls. All of them. Like
me and you, like everyone we know.
 

from Rattle #83, Spring 2024

__________

Tony Gloeggler: “I started writing poetry because I was always pretty quiet and no one was really talking about things I was feeling and thinking. Trying to turn my thoughts into a poem helped me understand myself and how I fit and didn’t fit in the world. That’s still what I’m doing whenever I write. This one’s about the guys in the group home I managed (the place I fit best, where things made the most sense) and how so few people outside the residence viewed them like they viewed anyone else, how they’re mostly just like everybody else. A little nicer or nuttier, funnier, weirder, less guarded. How a couple of them are two of my favorite people ever, how they could sometimes annoy the crap out of me. And how I miss them (apologies to Lee and Florencio for not letting them in the poem but luckily they don’t read poetry just like nearly everybody else) and the staff. Especially Larry.” (web)

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May 5, 2024

John Arthur

I REACHED OUT AND AM AWAITING A RESPONSE

I’m the Lebron James
of local bureaucrats.
Give me a project
and I’ll manage it
step by step like a PMP
using the waterfall method.
I’m shooting eighty-three
percent with these
crumpled up reports,
my desk as a backboard
for this waste paper basket.
I’ve got ninety-nine
passwords stored in
my head and I can
estimate the total
square footage of a building
with just one glance.
I rotate the same
two pairs of pants.
And once per year
when I go to France
I refuse to check
my email. Someone else
can pick up the refuse.
I’m just eating snails
and strolling Montmarte
buying street art
which I’ll hang
from the walls
of my cubicle in city hall
hoping someone will ask
where I found it
but no one ever does
and look, it’s not that
I’m trying to stall
it’s just for each decision
I’ve gotta call
a committee. This shit
is still a democracy
even when the ballots
are clouded with Meta’s
pixelated prop gun smoke
and I denote
I shall not poke
the sleeping commissioner
who right now is bumbling
through a speech
written by a Rutgers
college intern who uses AI
to craft policy briefs
in their briefs and listen,
everyone knows New Jersey
spends the most
per square mile
on repaving its roads.
Pot holes like pock marks
on my face. With legal pot
to fill any shortfalls
in our budgets
which barely budge
even when everyone’s
taxes go up
faster than a luxury
apartment complex.
And before nodding
out I hear your voice
again and again saying
Yes, please hold,
I’ll transfer you now.
 

from Poets Respond
May 5, 2024

__________

John Arthur: “The Lakers lost in the NBA playoffs and my news feeds have been inundated with debate over whether Lebron James is the greatest basketball player of all time or whether it’s Michael Jordan. That prompted the ‘I’m the Lebron James of local bureaucrats’ opening, and the rest of the poem just came out basically as is. By the way, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is the greatest of all time.”

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May 4, 2024

Lynne Thompson

PSALM FOR WORKING WOMEN

A microwave is my savior; I shall not starve.

It alloweth me to eat quickly. It leadeth me
to purchase Stouffers in bulk.

It restoreth dehydrated onions. It delivers me
from pre-heating for pre-heating’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley
of canned goods, I shall fear no tin containers
for plastics art with me and glass and ceramics,
they comfort me.

It preparest a roast turkey in thirty-six minutes;
four for carrots when they’re ’waved on HIGH.
My rumaki comes out crisp.

Surely, defrosting and warming shall follow me
all the days of my life and I shall dwell
in the land of a Hotpoint forever.

from Rattle #23, Summer 2009
Tribute to Lawyer Poets

__________

Lynne Thompson: “Although I was a civil litigator for more than fourteen years, the practice of law seldom, if ever, enters my poems. It’s as though that person has gone off for a long (and well-deserved) sleep and this poet—always bemused—has taken her place. I like her.” (web)

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May 3, 2024

Judith Fox

HOW IT HAPPENED

I thought I’d be at his side when he died.
Didn’t think I’d find his body,
 
relied on the clinician
who said his cancer will take time
 
to spread. But death struck my husband
with a lizard-quick tongue.
 
Snatched him as he was reading,
a torn theater stub tucked between pages
 
marking his place.
I was washing dishes a room away—a thin wall
 
apart—belting out songs
I’ll never sing again. Believing we had months,
 
thinking there was time enough
to dry a second cup.
 

from Rattle #83, Spring 2024

__________

Judith Fox: “I wrote nonfiction articles for national magazines, but didn’t start studying and writing poetry seriously until the spare text I wrote for my photography book, I Still Do: Loving and Living with Alzheimer’s rekindled my life-long love of poetry. (My father gave me A Child’s Garden of Verses on my fifth birthday; don’t ask me to recite ‘My Shadow’ unless you really want to hear it.) I’m twice-widowed and live in Los Angeles.” (web)

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May 2, 2024

Tim Suermondt

GRADUATION

All the things the young will do and see
that I never will.
All the things I’ve seen and done
that they never will—the trade-off
seems fair.
I walk down the block,
the elms lined up
like they are on inspection—
“Those shoes need more shine,
Suermondt,” the sun hanging
over my shoulder as if it cares.

from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

__________

Tim Suermondt: “The day after a February snow storm the sun came out, and I watched a group of high school students standing on the street corner, all of whom would soon have to face ‘the real world’ and all that that entailed. And despite the years between us, I felt like those teenagers: ready to go—damn the disappointments and worse. And like me, they’d learn to hang in and even occasionally triumph.” (web)

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May 1, 2024

Luigi Coppola

A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE TO BUYING A HOME

1. Decide if buying a home is right for you
Tomorrow morning, wake at dawn and look up at the sky
consider if it might fall, crack open and/or turn
and whether you ever want to see it again.
 
2. Decide if you should sell first
In your head, price tag your belongings, weigh up
the weights in your life and wait to see if they add up
to a mass that has value, a total that others would want.
 
3. Decide on your budget
Is that total, the sum of your life’s worth anything
to anyone? Does it hold up to your self-worth
and is it worth more or less than your intangible parts?
 
4. Get your finances in place
Stack coins in order of cleanliness,
notes in order of softness
cheques in order of love.
 
5. Decide where you want to live
Compare the surface of the sun with the moon,
dredge up the pond and place the fish on the line,
breathe in the air from every continent before dying.
 
6. Choose a specific property
Make sure to lick each brick and twang the aerial,
consider the lives that have passed by and if they looked
in the window, imagined themselves living in the living room.
 
7. Make an offer – and get it accepted
Offer skin, offer tea cosies, offer light,
offer the tie around your neck, offer offal,
offer more than you have by one single petal.
 
8. Arrange a mortgage
Turn left at the hospital, go past the charity shop,
turn right at the pharmacist, round the back of the library,
opposite the primary school—there you’ll find the devil’s door.
 
9. Hire a solicitor or conveyancer
File down a lucky coin and drag it along your palm,
let the blood settle on tissue paper, the iron
and fibres embracing on their desk.
 
10. Decide if you want a survey
See! The cracks! Hear! The mice!
Smell! The damp! Taste! The dust!
Touch! The emptiness in every room!
 
11. Arrange a deposit
Gather your friends and family, sit them
around a fire, build that fire to the tallest tree
and ask them to collect every ash flake.
 
12. Exchange contracts
Eyes – Fish Tank – Rollerblades – Steak
– Cape – Hatred – Job – Subordinates – Balaklava –
Cocktails – Horses (contracts exchanged)
 
13. Final arrangements and negotiations
I was engaged at four to my mother’s hairdresser’s
daughter. I can still feel her tiny hand in my mine
but I can’t remember her name.
 
14. Complete the sale
Shake hands across the threshold, make eye
contact for a second too long, make this uncomfortability
part of the process, remember their joyful regret.
 
15. Take possession of your new home
Lock the door, lie on the floor, stare at the ceiling,
the new plaster sky that is yours to paint anew
and a future you will make from someone else’s past.
 

from Rattle #83, Spring 2024

__________

Luigi Coppola: “While unpacking some (decade old?) boxes since our last house move (the scene from The Incredibles springs to mind), I was inspired by the title and headings used for an article from the HomeOwners Alliance website to write about the process, the headaches, the joy of a new house and then home. Various memories came flooding back, from childhood to adulthood, all compartmentalised but through various literal/metaphoric/symbolic lens, recalling Marianne Moore’s ars poetica within the longer version of her poem ‘Poetry’: ‘imaginary gardens with real toads.’” (web)

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April 30, 2024

Alignment II by John Paul Caponigro, surreal photograph of boulders over a sand dune

Image: “Alignment II” by John Paul Caponigro. “Synapses and Stardust” was written by Brandy Norrbom for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, March 2024, and selected as the Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)

__________

Brandy Norrbom

SYNAPSES AND STARDUST

Six times you were cosmic dust in the universe
But this time you called me sanctuary running
Lines through the sand like bio-electricity the
Spaces between us humming like synapses you
Set us apart like monoliths in the desert sky all
Scratching shadows where the dark in me is
Pulling every state of was or being into the
Undertow of this magnetic rift and yes it’s
Polarized but so are the tides and the moon
Making us as orbital as all that other matter
Can we fold into and around each other a
Tesseract through time where every instance
Of you finds every instance of me?
 

from Ekphrastic Challenge
March 2024, Editor’s Choice

__________

Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “I love the idea of the ‘spaces between us humming like synapses,’ and the way one can almost sense that kind of electricity between the objects in this image. The thoughtful lack of punctuation makes the poem flow as if it’s all being said in one breath, which reflects the ‘suspended in space and time’ feeling of the artwork. The last two lines are beautiful and moving, and take the reader by surprise with their candid vulnerability. The ending seems to hang in the air after the poem is over, again perfectly mirroring the scene in the image.”

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