by John Driscoll, M.D.

He whispered seamlessly
to his wooden man
whose lips moved,
eyes bobbed and who
was painted into a black suit
effortlessly tailored to his dwarfed
frame.  I heard the wooden
man speak at a church
in a small Southern town
on a hot day.  He hauntingly
exhorted a God that he could
not have known or understood
but I believed him because I was young
and thought that the oaks sang
to me in the wind at night.

by Dan Murphy

                                            — Es mejor vestir Santos
                                     que desvestir borrachos

If you lived here you’d be
                       homeless by now

Or own the liquor store by proxy,
                       poverty on first–name basis.

If you lived in full you’d be spellbound
                       with homesickness.

O, but we have the bellyache
                       these hundred years,

The nations we gorged upon, will not
                       dispel their dialects

Of shoes, transistors, Thalidomide and tonic
                       haggling for a fair price

At a market place whose stalls await
                       the rise of sun to turn the straw

In brick to gold.

by Dan Murphy

He’s hungry, I think
and like a combine
will eat anything.
Wheat, grasshoppers.
Dirt clods.

Or like an ocean, swollen,
its river–veins pumping
all manner of earthly detritus
into its receiving body.

by Paul Muldoon

WE WERE BUMPER TO BUMPER
DOWN BY THE OUTLET MALL
YOU PUSHED THROUGH IN A JUMPER

TWO SIZES TOO SMALL

I CAN’T ISSUE A FINE

LIKE A TRAFFIC COP

BUT SOMEONE’S GOT TO DRAW THE LINE

SOMEONE’S GOT TO MAKE YOU STOP

MY RIDE HAD BEEN SO SMOOTH

NOW I’VE LOST MY CONCENTRATION

FOR EVERY TIME YOU MOVE

IT’S A MOVING VIOLATION

I ASSUMED IT WAS THE SHOULDER

TOWARDS WHICH YOU’D STEERED

AND YOUR ENGINE SMOULDERED
BECAUSE OF HOW YOU’D SHIFTED GEAR

I’VE BEEN GENEROUS TO THE FAULT

IN YOUR LEAKING CV JOINT

BUT SOMEONE’S GOT TO CALL A HALT

SOMEONE’S GOT TO GIVE YOU POINTS

YOU KNOW IT BEHOOVES

SOMEONE TO WRITE YOU A CITATION

NOW EVERY TIME YOU MOVE

IT’S A MOVING VIOLATION
SOMEONE’S GOT TO PULL YOU OVER

BEFORE YOU HIT 202

FOR NO ROLLS ROYCE OR ROVER

CAN KEEP ABREAST OF YOU

THE WAY SOMETHING HAD MISFIRED
MAKES ME THINK YOU’RE DRUNK

SOMEONE’S GOT TO CHECK YOUR TIRES

SOMEONE’S GOT TO CHECK YOUR TRUNK

I CAN’T STAND HOW YOU’VE

CUT ME OFF MID – CONVERSATION

AND EVERY TIME YOU MOVE

IT’S A MOVING VIOLATION