Totem Poles

by Will Monigold

Watching a drunken man cry
Flopping jellylike in a heap
Along a bad street
That smells like piss.
“They can spend
A billion dollars
On the moon” he says
“But they can’t make
A safe place to walk.”
He’d cut his finger
On a broken bottle.
“He’s Kwakiutal,”
The other man says
Like that explained everything.
“They can’t hold their liquor.”
He laughs a toothless laugh.
We help the Kwakiutal man
Onto the sidewalk.
Prop him up against a dumpster.
“I’m Makah” the other man says
“We don’t have that problem.”
He laughs again
Showing all of his empty mouth.
“He carves totem poles”
The Makah man says.
“He’s famous
Everyone knows him.”

Birthday Poem 2 a.m.

by Will Monigold

It’s raining again.
The picnic bench
Is missing a board.
Evidence of its hard life.
The neighbors have
captured their dogs.
When I step outside
The street is quiet.
Nights are cool.
Sleep comes easily
But I avoid it.
There are times I hope
I won’t wake up.
Winter is coming.
The promise of darkness.
Ceaseless clouds
Putting to bed
A weary sun.  I let the rain
Wash my face.

CIGARETTES

by Will Monigold

Spike is a cat that
Wants more than I
Can give, but I
Love him. I
Don’t think He sees it
That way. The guy at the
Seven Eleven, Solomon,
Who sells Me cigarettes
Is from Gambia. He
Taught me How to
Say hello in his
Language; “Nanadif.” He
Seems pleased that I
Make the effort and I
Am pleased he came all
The way from Gambia to
Teach me, although I
Don’t think he sees it that
Way. Salmon, doesn’t judge
Me when I buy cigarettes like
They do at the supermarket, but
They don’t realize I am going
To die of other things long
Before cancer kills me. I
Don’t think they see it that
Way. Spike circles my
Legs and rubs hard. I
Reach down and scratch
His chin and tell him I
Love him.

NEON

by Will Monigold

We have come here
To love
And be loved.
We pretend to have
Custody of the night.
The smell of fish
From the street
Cheap perfume
Fried treats.
The invasion
Is complete.
According to the women
Five dollars
Will dispel the dreadful
Efforts of a rifle
The careless teeth
Of a grenade
A calamity
In a hut with mud walls.
The days are
Hard and hot
And we will not cry
For many years.

1492

by Will Monigold

God’s eye
Has traced these lines
When they were made
Men were young
Gifted, perhaps
Certainly lucky
It was not prayer
It was trinkets
Blankets of
Death
Victims of greed
Say you now
God’s eye
The page shifts
The needle turns
The stars didn’t teach us
How to lie
God did
Speak to me
Man
Tell me what gifts
Have you stolen

Telephone

by Will Monigold

“Love you, kiss kiss.”
7 Up from bottles
Slurp slurp.
Wait, have I taken those
Pills yet?
He said once a day…
Right?
Twice?
Can’t remember
Crunch crunch.
“Love you”
She hangs up.
Alone again.
Alone again.

Goin To Heaven

by Will Monigold

When you get to heaven
Are you naked?
Do they issue those robes
Or do you have to bring your own?
These things bother me.
Someone saw Jesus
In a potato chip.
Is that where he lives?
Can he be bought so cheap?
Stacked like wood
And put in a bag.
Does anyone ever see the devil
In one of those chips?
Maybe that’s where they
Do battle.
I’ve been told
There was a time
When things were better
But I wonder about the people
Who cried for want
Who died of lack.
What did they see in potato chips?
Is heaven in that blue sky
Above my head?
Wait, I see a face
In the clouds.

A SHORT POEM ABOUT THE TIME I FOLLOWED YOU TO ENGLAND AND FOUND YOU LIVING IN AN OLD FARM HOUSE OUTSIDE OF CAMBRIDGE

by Will Monigold

I wake to find Orion
Pressed along the milked rattle
Against a consequence of stars
Where beckoning England
Looming large
Would have me arched again
Against your touch.

MY HEART

by Will Monigold

You see it there
Lying on the floor?
It’s been used
and bruised and at times
smashed into tiny pieces.
It’s possibly beyond rescue
But maybe you can do
Something with it.
It may be that the earth is flat.
I can’t see beyond the horizon.
That must mean something.
I know the physics of it
I’ve accepted the equations
I’ve even worked them through.
It all means nothing
If you refuse to believe.
The night is particularly desolate.
There is little comfort in the knowledge
That the stars are furies
Rendering the sky miraculous
Because they haven’t been through
The cataclysm of my pain.
So you see that heart?
The one on the floor.
It may be of no use
To anyone.

HELEN IS DEAD

by Will Monigold

Now the moon is oil.  I've turned
the last bottle up and muddied my heart.
My solemn vows live among brute facts.
The room is hand woven like a tight ball of broom
and dwarfs engulf me with elixirs
deliberate as gunpowder.  From the end of my flute
come the next leafy cork and I sit
like driftwood, expecting a kick
from blunt boots.  Any other day would be
compliance, but the worm is frantic for my eye
the solitude like acid in a grape.

WALKING ON THE MOON

by Will Monigold

I could hear him mumbling
Something. Mumbling. When I was
Closer I could hear him. “It’s better
Walking on the moon. It’s better
Walking on the moon.” Monday.
Sitting in my underwear in
front of a screen. I can’t
See any reason to give the
Day a purpose. Raining.
I look down at my tattooed
Arm. The pictures trace a path
From somewhere to somewhere
Else. I study one that reminds me
Of a night I passed out under
A tree. I woke because someone
Was shining a light in my
Face. I put my arm up
To block the glare and slowly
Opened my drunken
Eyes. When I finally
Managed a peek I saw
The moon.

Untitled

by Will Monigold

It may not be enough
It may be too late
It may be that heaven is right in front of me
And I just can’t see it
A lie is as good as truth
When you’re trying to save your life
I can’t remember yesterday
And I can’t live tomorrow
Where does that leave me
You said you’d always love me
You said that come what may
We would always be safe
Spring is long gone
Summer has ended
It’s cold now
And the trees are shedding
Sunlight makes the leaves glow
How beautiful it all seems
But next week
I know
The branches will be bare

STORM

by Will Monigold

It will come
I can feel it
It’s standing right behind me
Your tears will be quiet
But I know they will make
The deepest pool
There is a tree
I can see from my window
I keep wondering if it will fall
When there is a good blow
It’s in line with my trailer
And just one of its branches
Would crush this thing
What is it about death
That freaks everyone out
I sit in my chair
And wait for the storm

I couldn’t find you

by Will Monigold

On Christmas day
They gave us turkey
On paper plates.
We ate in a tent
With M16’s on our laps.
I wondered through the crowd
But I couldn’t find you
You had wondered off
To kiss someone else.
Jesus didn’t live with us
He didn’t go on patrol with us
In fact he never showed his face.
When we found each other
I think I had tears in my eyes
Because you told me not
To worry, but all I could think
Was that I couldn’t find you.
When I saw his body
He had no face
It’d been blown off
By a trap set at the edge
Of a stream.
I wanted to run
Get away from you
But you locked your arm
In mine. I couldn’t find you.
It was never
The same after that.
We were 19 and when we
Got back to the world we
Had plans to travel
Find things that everyone else
Had forgotten.
Perhaps I shouldn’t blame you.
New Year’s Eve
Doesn’t mean much
Compared to a mine
In a stream.
I couldn’t find you
But maybe I couldn’t
Find myself.

Good Taste

by Will Monigold

I knocked on the door
When it opened
He was still in his uniform
I bought a bag
You better be
On time in the morning
Was all he said
French girls taste better
It’s probably their diet
The wine maybe
We all shared
The same works
By the time
You slip the needle
Into your arm
You’re shaking
I think I loved her
It’s hard to tell
When you’re high
But she was French
In the morning
I made formation
I asked the sergeant
If I could buy another bag
He never refused
She was rail thin
This French girl
And tall, but I
Really dug her accent
And the way she tasted
The sergeant didn’t use
Or maybe he did
It was hard to tell with him
At noon me and Pete
Fixed Kiki
That was her name
She’d come to visit her sister
Studying economics
You can’t live
After you’ve seen
Things that should be forgotten
I’d met her in Germany
Hitching from Paris to Athens
And now she was
Sitting across from me
At my table near the lake
When I got out
I swore I’d never use again
But it was a curse
Not a promise
She was beautiful
The way only French girls are
And I think I loved her
The way she tasted

97 SOUTH (Sad song near Omak)

by Will Monigold
 
The trucks on 97
Pass dangerously close
It’s about midnight
Escaping is all I can do
When I saw you kiss him
The blood in my heart
Ruined my head
I’ve tried to eat
But nothing tastes like you
I’ve tried to sleep
But my eyes 
Are too red to close
I’ve danced to this tune before
 
Brave men have tried to kill me
Iron bars have hidden me from the sun
Drink has left me dry
When I Iost you
Everything diminished
 
The moon has set
I can make out Orion
Sage is the bouquet
That sweetens the night
When a car finally stops
It’s full of drunks
There’s no room for my stuff
I’ll show up anywhere
with twenty bucks

Triptych

by Will Monigold

There is no grave deep enough
To bury a memory.
The first time I saw New York
I thought I’d found heaven.
God -- God must surely
Live there.

In a world full of mistakes
One word can turn the wind.
I bet on a queen
And lost to a pair of sevens.
I could have sworn
I had a winning hand.

In a house full of hurt
It’s hard to find a quiet corner.
Any moment she may
Walk through the door
Then I can tell her
I didn’t mean it.

Sunday morning

by Will Monigold

Again.
I tried to end
The world last night.
I think I’ve run far enough.
The thing about rain
Is that it makes
Everything look clean.
I suppose it’s the way she
Holds her mouth
When she kisses me.
I was born to be a fool
I had to have been
Otherwise my tools
Would fit
I could fix things.
I can still smell her
Still feel her.
I wish I was still
Pressed against
Her breasts.

SPRING

by Will Monigold

I watch the flies
Twisting in the window.
Some of them land on the sandwich
From two weeks ago
That’s finally lost its smell
But the flies savor it
Anyway.
It’s almost spring.
If I wasn’t so deaf
I could hear the birds singing.
I watched a robin
Picking a worm from the dirt
This morning. If I leave the heater
On and connect the microwave
The fuse blows. The fuse blew again.
I turn off the heater and finish cooking
The pot pie.
There is a little bit of blue on the lid
Of the cottage cheese but it hasn’t
Seemed to alter the taste.
After I finish eating the turkey
Pot pie covered with cottage cheese
I place the plate next to
The sandwich. The flies seem to enjoy
The new item just as much as the old.

THE TRUTH ABOUT COWBOYS IN THE MOVIES

by Will Monigold

They don’t live in submarines.
They shit in the dirt
And drink whiskey from small cups.
On holidays they love horses
More than Jesus, or Santa
Or the Easter bunny.
They eat beans from iron pots
Cooked by rough men in dirty aprons.
When dudes eat steaks in fancy restaurants’
In St. Louis or Chicago
It is from a steer branded
By a cowboy. They pull
A rope around its neck
And bind it’s feet tight
And burn it with a glowing iron.
The tough cowboys are from Texas
But I understand that gauchos
Can kick a movie cowboys’ ass.
They shoot each other with pistols
Brawl in bars, and screw
Unfortunate women who have
No other way to survive.
I know someone who loves
To watch movies about cowboys
And that makes them real to me.