Pull Off

She won’t listen to me
in her drunken slumber
even when I’m thoughtful
talkin’ with flower songs
in her pretty little ears,
deaf to my buzzin’
anguish from losin’
my shovelin’ job
diggin’ dirty sobs,
not hearing my singing
in wake-up keys that
they’ve been mean to me
and no one will record
my sorry blue chord: I

can’t slide my soul
down a broken string, can’t
pull-off this guitar to fame. I

got her that hot dress
and the toaster, wish
she’d listen; she’ll
pop-up when I’m gone:
I’m movin’ on
to the promised band
no hallelujah for me
just clap real hard
for heaven to hear
from the crossroads
my singing hitched
to bad luck hiking,
like a sway back horse
that no one can ride
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)

Poetry Books By Douglas Gilbert