Six Poems

by Jeffrey Zable

ONE TIME WHEN I WAS A KID

 

I climbed over fences in the backyard until in the last one

before the corner, I was caught by the owner of the house

who said in a hostile tone, “What are you doing in my yard!?

I ought to turn you over to the police!”

 

Begging him not to— making up a story that I was just searching

for my lost cat— he ushered me out through his alleyway door.

 

And returning home, when I called my cat in for his dinner

I felt happier than usual to see him as if he’d somehow saved my life.

THE RESPONSE

 

A friend of mine— who’s not a writer—

asked me why I write and what I get out of it.

 

To which I answered, “I write because there

just aren’t enough people in my life to whom

I can tell my innermost thoughts and feelings.”

 

“Well,” he replied, “you can always tell me what’s

going on inside of you. We’ve been friends long enough

that you should feel comfortable with that.”

 

Good to know!” I responded. “But you should also know

that once I got started you could be listening for several years.”

AROUND FORTY YEARS AGO

 

I was in a film that a friend of mine made with the hopes

of becoming a legitimate film maker/director, but unfortunately

this never happened, yet looking at the film again on an old

VHS machine I was a bit surprised with how well I portrayed

a borderline psychopath who tells his psychiatrist that he could

kill the woman who jilted him. “I could do it and feel totally

justified!” I tell him, to which he responds, “If you ever really

plan to do it, by law I have to report you to the authorities!”

which makes me respond, “Then I can’t trust you either!”

before getting up and walking out the door…

FEELING A BIT GUILTY

 

After handing a five to Jonny—the schizophrenic, homeless guy

who hangs around my neighborhood—he asks, “How many times

is your name mentioned in the Epstein files?”

 

Playing along without thinking about it, I answer, “My name

is mentioned 32 times, but I want you to know that I only had sex

with females who were 18 or older!”

 

To which Jonny responds in a serious tone, “My name is mentioned

112 times, and I’m not going to tell you what I did one way or the other!”

 

“I’m fine with that!” I say to him, and as I walk away I’m feeling a bit guilty

that I kidded around in such a manner as I’ve always sided with the victims…

IN SPITE

 

“Are you interested in saving the environment?”

the guy with a clipboard asks me, and being

in one of those moods I answer, “If you mean

the human environment, I feel ambivalent

most of the time. I often think the human race

is a complete mistake!”

 

To which he looks at me and responds,

“I often feel like that as well, but since I’m here

I’m trying to make the most of it!”

 

Knowing that he wants some money, I take out

my wallet, draw out a five and three ones,

and hand it to him.

 

“This will definitely help. . . thanks!” he says

with a smile.

 

“Keep up the good work. The human race

will likely muddle on in spite of the odds!”

are my final words before heading on my way.

IN MOST RESPECTS

 

The headline of the E-mail read, “Get bigger, harder, faster.”

 

And without reading further, I said to myself, “It would’ve been

great being bigger— if they mean more muscular and taller—

when I was younger because I dreamed of playing professional

basketball. I believe that if I had been stronger and maybe

a foot taller it would have been a real possibility.

 

As to being harder, I’m not sure what they mean by that,

but if they mean tougher—as in more aggressive— that too

would have helped me be more successful on the court,

and probably in life as well.

 

As to faster—again—I think of basketball and know that if

I had been more muscular, taller, and faster all at the same time

I would have definitely had an edge over others and no doubt

had an even greater chance of playing professionally.

 

Nonetheless, I believe that I did pretty well overall, and though

I never became a household name at anything I pursued,

I’ve probably lived an above average life in most respects.

BIO: Jeffrey Zable is a teacher, conga drummer/percussionist who plays for dance classes and rumbas around the San Francisco Bay Area, and a writer of poetry, flash-fiction, and non-fiction. He's published five chapbooks and his writing has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and anthologies, more recently in Uppagus, Misfit, Streetcake, Ivo, Corvus, Dark Winter, The Ravens Perch, Rundelania, Moss Piglet and many others. His selected poetry, "When I'm Dead and Felling Blue" is now available from Amazon or directly from Androgyne Books.

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