On Sand and Steps (Draft 4)
Without power
dark and hungry
hurricane charms.
None could wash away
Sandy sorrow and surges
when too many steps
needed to be taken urgently.
My thigh hurts from a pull
because I am unreal, ungraceful
in keeping blind rhythm masterfully
unreal for walking in the dark, and
I fell at the bottom of the stairs
flying like a fledgling on nested steps
catching my foot on an invisible edge
She used to find me charming
thought I was her good luck charm
but for a while now
I’ve just been used
Without power
dark and hungry
hurricane charms.
She said to
turn off my flashlight
because the looters she knew
would know she left her apartment
She knows everyone but me, and
I suppose I used to be charming
She needed to charge her phone
to talk to her real friends
in the real world
Seems that I, being unreal,
can’t see in the dark,
missed a step,
fell, and
we went to
charge her cell phone
near the security booth
where they hide guards
and do nothing, a light light
house like Potemkin’s façade
There’s a generator at the booth
where she can charge her cell phone
talk to her real friends
in the real world
Unreal in the dark
without heat
without hot water
wet faces are not washed
dirty, filthy tides cry, but
the ocean is more beautiful
and magnificent than the mud
of the tidal marauders, and
the seagulls sang more sweetly
than the people on the street
as I wandered through debris
on the beach with flashlight on
watching a Dredge pipe spray
new sand for replenishment
new food for seagulls, and
food for thought that
wiggles like worms and clam bits
A few skillful birds caught
long pieces of food
and each had five
other birds attack it
A few snatched little pieces
that they ate surreptitiously
Some just enough
for air-to-air to beak combat
Many got none and
one stood away from
the main torrent of muddy water
not seeming to care
wading without waiting
I mumbled you’ll never
get anything that way
It barked at me
Why did you bark?
I blurted
If I chirped
would you pay attention?
It knew a good sand bar
so it flew and landed
flew and landed
so I could follow it
I walked across some rocks
onto a sand bar bizarre, and
an unopened bottle of whiskey
freely floated onto the bar to a stop
I poured some rye
into the whiskey’s cap
let the seagull drink
and wink at me as I
drank from the bottle
Foam rose
time to go
Alone with a thought
it seemed more articulate
than a parrot distraught; thus
it bravely rested on my shoulder
and I brought it home
I was so cold but
I lit the oven aglow
and put up some water
to boil, bravissimo
It asked me to open
cans of clams and sardines
which I gladly did, amen
seeing as I needed an ending
to the orphan joke: a man
walked into a bar along with
a barking seagull, a chirping dog
a priest, and the bartender spoke…
I thought I had been quite a good host
but then it asked if I could
charge its cell phone…
That’s when I cooked it.
It tasted like chicken in wine
blessed by a priest and a bartender.
She knew every storm but me, and
I suppose I used to be a lake
— Douglas Gilbert
Poetry and Stuff 