THE COACH AFTER A LOSS
The coach grabbed everything he could lift
and slammed it against the dressing room wall.
Then he screamed at his players, his assistants.
His body shook like he was even shrieking at himself.
I sequestered myself into a bubble of reason,
where, in every game, somebody has to lose.
And defeat, like victory, pads out life’s score-line.
Face hidden below my neck, I untied my boots quietly.
And I drifted further and further away from his words,
over golden hills, through mountain tunnels,
and heard the Alpine siren one who sang joyous arias
that blissfully drowned out the coach’s wrath –
even as his neck reddened, veins bulged,
and his arms flailed like a sword dancer’s blades.
Coach railed against the bullheadedness of the contest.
I was calm, undressed, and in service to the song.
DONNA’S TYPICAL SATURDAY MORNING
She’s crying out for a mariachi band
to come by her second-floor window.
Or, better yet, a Latin lover
plucking on a Spanish guitar.
The birds in the oak tree do their best
but their chirps are for each other,
not the woman slowly waking.
At the other extreme is her next
door neighbor, a man with less
consideration than a barking dog.
He’s starting his loud lawnmower.
To his mind, the grass requires trimming
more than her feelings are
in need of revival.
So, once again, the day begins
with no enchantment, no intrigue.
And no romance. Especially no romance.
The tiny creatures keep it among themselves.
The big oaf spies two flowering dandelions,
slices them with his blade.
ABOUT THE ARTIST
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Rathalla Review. Latest books, ‘Covert’ ‘Memory Outside The Head’ and ‘Guest Of Myself’ are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings.