look
at it this way
my roommate
in the psych ward
thought he was jesus when he came
in. he'd been on a high,
snorting ritalin and god
knows what else. he asked,
do you believe in me?
and i said, yeah, sure.
i figured that if i had to be
there, it couldn't hurt to have him
in my room, even if
he was j.c.
look at
it this way:
if the savior were to show up,
like some people think, and then go around
to everyone exclaiming,
i've come again!,
they'd lock him up with all his followers
and tell him he has it all
wrong and zap him with electricity
and make him paint
warped coffee mugs, if he behaved himself.
that's what they did with my roommate.
all i'm saying is maybe
i was in the right place.
Overheard While Reading Bukowski
I won't
brag
about her face, but she has
a Hollywood
body.
Nineteen years old
and she
quotes
Locke and Einstein
in the
same breath.
Friggen prodigy.
I figure
she'll understand,
so I show her
some poetry.
You're perverted,
mister. But it's deep.
Dead on.
We have a few
shots--ok,
more
than a few--and then
get down
to business.
I mean business.
In the
morning
there's a note:
Thanks.
I'll clean up later.
Dear Editor
I gave
him my last
cigarette, and he said,
God bless you.
He was homeless, or else
a college professor. It's hard
to tell in Harvard Square.
But it's good to be blessed,
in any event.
Perhaps
it would
have been better to give him
some money, or to buy him
a sandwich,
but I was trying
to quit smoking
at the time.
Plus,
it makes for more
interesting poetry, what with
the moral implications:
Here's this
guy who's reduced
to begging on the streets,
or teaching
college
students, and I have both
pockets full
of spare change. And the best
I can do
is give him a stinking
cigarette that I want
to get rid of anyway?
Shouldn't you be eating
this stuff
up?
Look, I already have
God's blessing.
All I ask
is that you accept
my poem,
or at least tell me to
go to Hell.
Copyright © 2001 Richard Jordan
