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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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477.
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The Moral
He was so moral, very moral
A moral man
He was passionate about morals
Morals were his life
As a child, he was told “don’t, ” so he didn’t.
He didn’t smoke, he didn’t drink,
He didn’t have sex before marriage
He didn’t lie, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t steal
He didn’t get divorced, he didn’t have affairs
He didn’t whine, he didn’t complain
He didn’t even cry.
His whole life was a don’t, so he didn’t.
And, in the end, it was no surprise
He didn’t have relationships either.
Not with his wife.
Not with his kids.
Because the biggest of all his didn’ts:
He didn’t know how to love.
(Previously published in The Indie Journal, Jan 1999)
Laurence Overmire
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478.
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The Pillar
He’s a saint I tell you, a pillar of the community.
He always smiles and says, “Good day! ” Even when the smog is thick and greasy and it sticks to your lungs like goo, it’s still a “Good day! ” to him.
Did you see his picture in the paper?
That’s a $2000 suit he wears. He looks heavenly, especially next to that grouchy construction worker whose toe he’s accidentally stepping on.
He kissed my little Joey when he was just a baby don’t you know.
Right on the forehead. I didn’t want to wash it off. Right there on the courthouse steps and everyone was cheering.
And once he had an open house and Myrtle and Mildred and Fred and me all traipsed up to his mansion and everyone was there, well anyone who was someone, and he even had cookies and juice and doilies and everything!
Well, actually, they ran out of juice and the cookies were kind of stale, but we didn’t care.
Oh I know, isn’t it though? The man’s a saint, and for such a thing, oh I just don’t know.
Did you see the casket? That was real gold. Yes. No expense was spared.
The man’s a saint I tell you. He looked so dignified. He didn’t even cry.
He’s a pillar of strength I tell you.
And did you see HER! ! She wouldn’t even look at him. I don’t know what she’s got to complain about. Seems to me he fixed her up with a nice little settlement. And all without a pre-nup too. She should consider herself lucky.
Oh, the boy? I don’t know. He seemed like such a clean cut young man. Just like his father. But to go and do something like that. It’s awful.
Oh for heavens no! He was out of town. The maid found the boy. A good thing too.
Poor man. Fortunately, they cleaned it all up before he came home.
Oh yes, the only son.
And he was supposed to take over the company too. A whole wonderful future ahead of him. Imagine doing such a thing.
Poor man. It’s just not right. He’s such a saint and for this to happen.
I’m going to send him a fruitcake. Maybe that will cheer him up.
(Previously published in Mouthing The Muse, Nov.1999)
Laurence Overmire
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479.
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The Plumlee Mr. Bruce
A group of thirty, nine and ten-year-old eager lads
Filed out of the peeling pearly white bus
Muscle-bound counselors herding them into line
Distributing the equipment for the day's recreational outing.
But funds were short so some poor boys were
Disadvantaged at the start
Unable to join the fun
The Plumlee Mr. Bruce was one
Tall, lanky greasy-haired goof
Cried with apprehension:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '
We sat on the bank, he and I both lost
Both pitifully deprived
And watched while others reeled in the catch
Laughing and whistling and hooting it up!
But The Bruce was miffed as miffed could be
Cried out again in disbelief:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '
I, dejected, resigned myself to my bitter lot
The hot sun scorching my miserable bones
Bored, I picked the grass and cursed my fate
But The Plumlee Mr. Bruce would not allow injustice to prevail
Stomping and screaming at the top of his lungs:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '
I rolled over, went to sleep and heard no more
'Till the bus revved up again
And waking saw The Bruce with pole in hand
A three-foot Muskie on the hook
A smile as big as Cleveland
It was too late for me but nonetheless
I think I learned my lesson
And striding towards the counselor's hefty back
Tapped him on the shoulder and shrieked:
'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! '
(Previously published in Kookamonga Square, Feb 2003)
Laurence Overmire
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480.
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The Politics of Trees
I much prefer the politics of trees
They haven’t got any, you see
They just grow
Minding their own business
Taking in the sun
Giving breath to all life
At home, their sturdy place in the world
Content
Until some fool human
Chops them down for
Kindling.
(Previously published in The Short North Gazette, Nov.2001)
Laurence Overmire
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