The Wolf Throws a BBQ

by Ed Werstein

The first two ran
to their brother’s
when their houses fell.

All three of them thought
they were safe inside.
Then it hit me
like a ton of---
Bricks!

This one was brick!
Just like Old MacDonald’s smokehouse.

I had straw--
a houseful,
and plenty of sticks
from the second one.

With these bellows-for-lungs
all I needed was a match and ...

Oh, brother!
I invited the whole pack over for the feast.

All the dogs in town came by to beg.
Every once in a while
we threw one of them an ear.

Evolution

by Ed Werstein

Once upon a time
phones were large,
sat on cherry wood desks
or hung on the wall
next to the ice box.

Before that there were no phones.
Once upon a time
timepieces were large,
sat on marble mantels
or hung on the wall over the phone.

Before that timepieces were huge
faces in towers on the town square.

Before that there were sundials.
And before that only the sun.
It still does a pretty good job
of announcing daybreak.

Eventually timepieces got smaller,
travelled with us
built into DeSoto dashboards,
carried in tweed vest pockets,
or lizard-leather-banded onto our wrists.

And then phones grew legs,
walked with us wherever we went
leashed to our belts
carrying tiny timepieces in their vest pockets.

Fences

by Ed Werstein

There used to be more sides in the world.
Grandpa’s barn had four good sides
before it went down in a storm in ’87.
Grandpa, too, had a good side and a bad side.
They both went down in ’63.

When Uncle Jim took a steer to market,
there were two sides of beef,
a side in his freezer, a side in ours.

There used to be shorter fences
in back yards
and neighbors on each side
talking to each other.
And if they ever mentioned sides,
it certainly wasn’t to say, “you’re on the wrong side.”

There was your side and my side, but we talked.

And politics? Jesus,
there were all kinds of sides
and lots of middle ground
in the town square.

Now sides are taken, not shared.

Newsmen boast about reporting both sides of the story,
as if there were always only two.

There used to be a sunny side of the street,
a few dead ends,
but every street with a sunny side,
not just Park Avenue.

Can you remember?
Can you even imagine it now?
Every street with a sunny side
and all you had to do was cross over.

Mars, Venus and the Green Bay Packers

by Ed Werstein

It’s game day and I am walking to Whole Foods
past bars filled with noisy fans gazing at gigantic TV screens
and as I pass the Bradford Beach Club
the crowd inside erupts in cheers.

I quickly surmise that the good guys have scored
but then, five steps further on, another elated (related?) roar
is emitted from the open door
of Hooligan’s Pub directly across the street.

This temporal distortion puzzles me until I theorize
that the Beach Club’s screens are cable fed
while the TVs in Hooligan’s are receiving satellite signals through a dish.

This is just a theory
but suddenly I understand a communication
problem I am having:
me, hard wired for direct input
and her, a concave bowl searching for signals from the stars.

Memo on a Parable

by Ed Werstein

To: The Shepherd
From: The Poet

Re: Your Lost Sheep

 

Let’s consider this from his perspective.

 

Maybe he had a mind of his own.

 

Maybe he was tired of conforming,

of every time his eyes wandered

feeling the crook of your staff

round his neck.

 

Maybe he just wanted to be

alone for awhile,

to not be a part of the fucking

flock any more.

 

Maybe he was sick and tired

of your mid-night advances.

 

Maybe he was an artist

searching for a tar pit

to dye in,

the original black sheep.

 

Maybe he didn’t want to be found.

Maybe you were just afraid

of what songs he’d sing to your flock

across the hills at night.

 

There were ninety-nine others.

Fuse

by Ed Werstein

All’s quiet on the eastern front
as a thin white cloud
an open parenthesis
curves up from the line
separating the gray-blue sky
from the blue-gray lake.

Gradually it begins to glow
red-orange
like a lit fuse.

Slowly the sun
like a programmed cherry bomb
rising light by light
from the bottom of a Times Square billboard
climbs out of the lake.

As it crowns into view
the horizon explodes
flashes brilliant north to south, afire
like a distant war zone
only silent, and with hope.

Venus of Delta

by Ed Werstein

In the hubbub
of the airport screening area,
that kerfufflian confusion posing as security,
right in front of me
she bent
to remove her shoes.

It was the bending that did it,
the flesh inside stretching
tightening the denim even more.

Her pose
a picture destined for the dictionary
illustrating callipygian.
This woman's calli
was as pygian as they come.

The goddess Callipygia herself,
in the flesh..

I was flummoxed and flamboozled.
Flustered, I left liquids unbagged,
dropped change all over the floor,
frazzled the folks waiting behind me.

After stumbling twice
through the metal detector,
forgetting to remove my belt,
and now completely disassembled,
I was relieved at last
to see exactly what I needed:

Recombobulation Area.

SIX PACK

by Ed Werstein

Vampire Nun

Teaching fullfils me.
Be good students. Leave me some
blood in the inkwells.


Nosferatu's Garden

If Nosferatu were a gardener
he would raise beets
and beets alone,
fang-rooted Rumanian blood bulbs,
vampire of vegetables.

Sucking redness from radish veins
leaving its innards colorless.
Rutabagas, potatoes, parsnips
are no match for its red-robbing wiles.

Only the longer rooted carrot
has managed through the centuries
to cleave to a bit of orangeness.

There is an eastern European wives tale
claiming that before the beet bit
you could get blood from a turnip.

Bubbling in a borscht bowl,
the beet could sustain our fabled count
through those long cold damselless nights.


Frustration

is an orator
carries his own soapbox
for impromptu speeches
in the park
trying to convince people
help them see things
the way they really are
how close to the brink we are walking
how green the park used to be
how it’s slipping away
and we’ll never know
what too late is
until it’s too late.

Frustration wants to shout
that soldiers are still dying
even if they are (mostly)
someone else’s kids
that innocent people are still dying
even if they do (mostly)
live somewhere else.

Frustration wants to get off
his soapbox and buy
a ladder and a megaphone
but knows
he’d just be doubling
the number of people
he’s not reaching

Frustration takes a deep breath
and knows --
but doesn’t know
what to do about it.


Politics

1
At the circus greedy
irresponsible elephants
ridden by fat cats
pilfer peanuts from spectators
throw frightened children to the lions
retroactively raise the price of admission
and laugh when they’re asked for a refund.

2
Down on the farm idle
domineering donkeys
ridden by fat cats
watch as laborers pull plows
and continue losing ground
day by day.
Yet, the laborers feel forced
to work for the donkeys
fearing they’ll give their children
to the greedy elephants.

3
At Sunday services
circus spectators and farm laborers
pray together
that greedy elephants and idle donkeys
might change their ways
as fat cats sitting in the front pews
smile, knowing futile prayers
when they hear them.


Chile

corn, grapes, olives, squash
spices that taste of the soil
shape of a pepper


Still Life
on February 27, 2010 an earthquake,
magnitude 8.8, struck the central coast of Chile.

In the photos,
taken just hours before the earth shook,
you are smiling,
happy to have a Wisconsin visitor,
happy to talk baseball and American politics.
Happy to introduce someone new
to the flavors of pastel de choclo,
that most authentic of Chilean cuisine,
which sits cooling in front of you,
its thick, sweet, corn crust,
like the crust of Chile, still unbroken,
but bubbling beneath its surface.

Later, after the meal
and the malbec, our friend,
your visitor, walks to his hotel,
and you, your wife, and my grandson
board the metro heading for home,
all of you still smiling,
still unaware
of the earth’s deeper motion,
unaware of the trembling night ahead.

Unaware that just off the coast,
frantic fish are already heading
for deeper waters.


Nosferatu's Garden was originally published by Verse Wisconsin