Passing On
That fuckhead over
there by the bar hates
my guts and
the feeling is so
so mutual, we go
way back this hot
breathing heart
bursting lip licking
loathing animus
we have an absolute
right goddammit to train
our guns on each other
tear awful holes
in each other
let our bodies
sustain damage
plenty of it
some might say
so extensive
help can’t help us
some might say
goodbye prayers
some will wave
good riddance
I say, screw them!
My point is
I like my gun
it likes me
I named it
Billy but I could’ve
named it Stu
for stupid
but that wouldn’t
have been very kind
would it?
guns have
feelings, too, they
need to feel useful
you would
if you were a gun
sitting heavy-hearted
at some amped up gun show
in some out of the way
half-remembered
slowly crumbling mall
beset by the wandering
ghosts of dead shoppers
you’d want to be picked up
fondled, aroused
made to feel important
used in some passionate
dispute with results that
can’t be undone.
which is why I’m passing
this dependable
wildly winsome
9mm Glock 17 and
this drop-dead gorgeous
Kalashnikov
on to you, my son,
the shorter the life the more precious
you get my drift
take them with you
wherever you may go
in this ruthless truthless
world may you settle all
your disagreements with
wondrous finality of blood
and bone, hopefully
not yours.
Love, dad
Front Porch
Quiet street
white paint peeling
house creaks
leaves rustle
soft wind
puffs thinning hair
brook tumbling
to the river
in the kitchen
wife and daughter
bake and laugh,
come out, come out
whisper my lips
whisper my lips
be with me now
facing autumn.
Assignment
write a 12 line poem using the words “sturgeon,”
“blueberry,” “mayonnaise,” and “statute of limitations;”
make sure every line begins with the words “rather than”
and the final word is “perhaps.”
while standing
conjure up a love poem for chairs
in the past conditional
each line having five words
each word having four letters
use only three vowels except “u’.
write an advertising poem
extolling your favorite brand of soap
imagine you are trying to sell this item
to a village of blind Laplanders
who have been pushed off their land
and relocated to Ft. Lauderdale,
avoid using the words “scent” “smell”
“best,” “you,” and “martyrdom to the
nascent calliope children.”
imagine you’ve forgotten where you live
or where you parked your car
you’ve got wads of money in your pocket
and it’s your birthday
write a prose poem about getting help
use no caps, no punctuation
make sure the word “honest”
appears ten times.
you feel sexy, you want sex
you’re in an elevator with a group of people
who think sex makes you stupid and gives you warts
write a three stanza poem
elucidating Freud’s relationship to anything at all
and why nobody can understand you
don’t try to be funny
it won’t work.
Reveries of Winter Brooklyn
Outfit me in gray pajamas,
heave me into bed
stinking back room
nursing home
soft food hell
swelling on my spine
could be cancer
why me? I whine
fat orderly sneers
bad yoyo boy, your body’s
got a hostile takeover
he doubles over
laughing.
Oh God, hurry
forgive this runny nose
spittle on my chin
whisk me off to Brooklyn
winter long ago, snowballs
sail, Prospect Park, muffled voices
carry on cold wind
across milky fields, laughter,
shovels digging, sleds hissing
downhill runs tumbling over,
ice floes on the east river
blocking ferries, peddlers’ wagons
pulled up under the new bridge
horse’s lips curled back, hind legs
ready to kick, watch out,
you see,
there are no beginnings
I can’t remember.
Matt Fried is a fiction writer, poet and psychologist. He received his MFA from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. His short fiction has appeared in Pulphouse and 166 Palms: A Literary Anthology. He studied poetry with the poet Colette Inez. His CD of original songs, Days of Hope, can be heard on Apple Music, Spotify Pandora and YouTube. His psychological articles have appeared in the following publications: Psychiatry, Transformance, and The Feldenkrais Journal. In addition to writing poems, He’s working on his first novel.
