PUMPING GAS
All Rick has to do to keep his job
is pump…and keep pumping.
Fear of life without a paycheck
turns to praise in his boss’s eyes.
It’s work that’s all brawn, no brain,
except for the torture of making the correct change
and it comes with a fancy uniform,
and a hat that he’s too embarrassed to wear.
In other states, drivers do this for themselves.
But not here. Not in Jersey.
He can’t imagine himself living in Massachusetts.
He would fade away. He would die.
He even does more than is called for,
rubs a wet cloth across the windshield
like he once saw in a black and white movie.
Occasionally, someone’s generous with a tip.
He realizes there’s no future in what he’s doing.
The boss isn’t going to die and leave the place to him.
There’s only the present and, though it moves him forward,
it never gets ahead of itself.
But someone has to do what he does.
And he’s stuck inside the one that’s doing it.
“Fill ‘er up,” says the guy who just pulled into pump A.
Rick is the guy within hearing range.
THINGS TO DO IN PROVIDENCE
Marvel at your transformation
when you haven’t really changed.
Grow weary of the same routine
and then stick to it.
Ignore the jackhammering in your skull.
It’s permanent.
Play chess in the park while your worst enemy
is getting laid off at a costume jewelry factory.
Dress differently
so people will mistake you for a college student.
When you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do,
say nothing.
Take aim at all your preconceived ideas.
With a bow if possible. Make the arrow stick.
Forget that search for happiness.
Hype up sadness instead.
Join in conversations.
Even when you’re alone.
Stand by your beliefs. Then move slowly, quietly,
away so those beliefs don’t notice you’re gone.
THE FACE AS IT PRESENTS ITSELF
It’s an odd face.
Some people like it.
In one or two,
it invokes pity.
It’s drawn to a mirror.
Which are the standout features?
What is in decline?
Old around the mouth
yet the eyes are young.
Cheeks unblemished
but one earlobe bears a scar.
What does it say
about the mind and heart?
That’s where the trick comes in.
It can pose open-minded and wide-hearted.
Or it can slump into the opposite of these.
It retreats from the mirror
and rejoins society.
Most smile because
it’s back among them.
It turns from the ones
who shake their heads.
ON THE DAY HIS MOTHER DIED HER HAIR PURPLE
He left the house thinking,
“This time I’m leaving for good.”
He had no belongings with him.
He was just headed for the store.
But, to him, she looked ridiculous.
He could no longer invite friends back to the house.
No way would he be seen with her in public.
“Free at last!” he screamed in his head.
It was a warm clear day
and the entire world was open to him.
On his walk, he saw other mothers.
Their hairstyles were age-appropriate.
None of them were an embarrassment to their children.
Some may have even had husbands.
At least, they looked as if they did have one
then they could keep him.
He returned home with the few items
he picked up for her at the store.
He tried not to look at her when he handed them over.
But his eyes could not avoid her hair.
It looked like a serving of grape cotton candy.
He kept the change. It was his price for staying.
IN WAR AND PEACE
Soutine perished on the run
from the Nazis,
Freundlich died in the camp,
imagine being...
no I can't even imagine it.
I cuss the weather
when it's too hot to write poetry.
But trying to create something
in the middle of crazy, outrageous, bloody war?
I'd be in a foxhole
tapping out my next breath.
For every tortured surrealist
or Dadaist in a charnel house,
there’s me:
the same old crippled relationships,
damnable family life.
There are no guerrillas in the trees
outside my window.
No bombs drop on my rooftop.
I am safe from the enemy.
I’m most as risk
from the people I know.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.
2 thoughts on “Poetry from John Grey”
great work John
Joh, these were outstanding poems, each one. My favorite line was: “Join in conversations, even when you’re alone.” You have a decided quirky affinity for words. Please keep writing and sharing.
great work John
Joh, these were outstanding poems, each one. My favorite line was: “Join in conversations, even when you’re alone.” You have a decided quirky affinity for words. Please keep writing and sharing.