LOST AT SEA by Michael J. Arcangelini

 

The day that Jake, her commercial
fisherman fiancé, drowned, Connie came
in to work the dinner shift, as usual.
There were no wisecracks though and
she saved her smiles for the customers.
She handed her orders to me without
comment. Picked them up the same.
She shrugged off condolences,
dismissed offers of help, and
cried quietly in the store room when
she thought no one was around.

In the early morning hours
the small boat Jake crewed on,
too heavy with a good catch,
capsized in rough seas just off the bar.
The captain and the one other crewmember
survived. Jake’s body was never found.

That night, after her last table had been set,
Connie swept her tips into her purse,
without counting them, and left.

Four Poems by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Attack of the Idea People

People
they offer their ideas
when you tell them
you’re a
writer

because if you write
you know
you’re probably
desperate
for inspiration

Hey,
I know a great story
you can write!

No, thanks, you say
You write it.

But I’m not a writer
Don’t you
wanna good story?

I’m already working
on something

Wow,
that’s too bad
because this
would have been

really great.

____________

She’s Too Pretty to Play with Sober

I’ve
got at least
one

foot
inside
the boneyard

but
I like
to pull it
out

once
in awhile

and run
with a wild
blonde

in the summer
when the world
burns

straight
into autumn
as we

fall
into each
other
laughing

exchanging
secret
quiet
code words

jazz piano
blue
as we

pull on
our
monster façade.

____________

If You Get Just the Right Amount Drunk Tonight

Right
now
in the super drunken
ecstasy
of appreciation

I know maybe
we don’t have it
all figured
out

all of the time

but
just know this
from me

as summer radiation
fades into
the awesome embrace
of autumn shadows

I love you
and don’t let
anyone
ever tell you
differently

and beer
I love beer & wine
and vodka

because,
why the fuck not

and
if you get
just the right amount
drunk tonight

you might see it
exactly
the same way.

____________

Telepathy for Angels

Sometimes
it’s impossible
to sleep

maybe
it’s one martini
too many
red wine
or good California
beer

or bills
or worrying about
the future
the children
my pretty wife

and
only one thing
takes me
to clouds

I pray
to gods unknown
or to those
to whom I think
I should know
or want to know

I pray
to my ancestors
and various
other departed people

I phone it in …
hoping
to get past
the
dead letter office

but
I can’t tell you
whether or not
they answer

only
that they
grant me
the gift of dreams.