for Basquiat, Wylie Dufresne, Bob Viscusi, Trish Hicks We all do the same ol’ same ol’ same. (Some don’t.) Basquiat Dubbed it SAMO©. The buildings made Of bricks the poems about poetry. Viscusi said the hyphenated can’t stop yapping About Nonna, gravy, the Old Country. At St. John’s Rec Center, all the fathers Are missing poems and all the poems are missing Fathers. When the sun dies, so do the birds And the trees fall fast as a butcher’s knife. So I don’t eat food anymore, I eat light. The saying goes: you can tell a good chef By how he cooks an egg. What is the saying For poets? When Wylie Dufresne Cooks eggs, they come out cubed. When Jean-Michel paints eggs, Joe’s red eyes Are in the skillet. SAMO© left his darkness At the speed of light… But who is The Truth, The Light? We don’t discuss these things in our family, And my mother Thinks I’m perfect. We’ve mastered burying The dark stuff deep inside. Mom breathes smoke To keep it at bay, I eat light, a stack of pancakes: A stack of light—coffee, juice, Gatorade: A mug, a glass, a bottle of light—spaghetti With meatballs: strings of light with ornaments of light.
Copyright © 2013 by Michael Cirelli. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on October 24, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.