Volume 16 ~ Spring 2004 ~ ISSN 1543-6063

DANIEL NESTER

The Loser’s Dream

I’m not shouting right now,
not on company time.  I’m not
greeting staff with pasta trays.
A couple years ago my suits stained
each time I draped them on
my parent-sure shoulderlocks.
It’s been the same each awkward
fall.  My voice is red and deep,
formerly hysterical, cryworthy,
untailored, still-quiet and tinkly,
a fatherly drop on a cold lake—
make me shout, make me make me.

Burnt Umber Stuff

Quarterback storm is upon us
and perchance unfinished documents
are still out there—first-hand accounts
of my past life out among
unfinished songstress sticks,
and everyone who ever stared at my penis
out on the couch—

Again, never never never
assume military metaphors do not
apply—Excuse yourself, Sir,
look at her in the eye and use
whichever book you choose
to throw.  But deal with your past,
and whatever you do stick to your story—

revive yourself first maybe—
slap your cheeks
in the mirror, restore the armchair
honor you’ve earned—
and slip slip away, songstresslover—
just leave her alone and let me sleep!

Poems © Daniel Nester 2004. All rights reserved.

Duncan Hannah
www.jamesgrahamandsons.com

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