joseph p. wood

2 poems


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Confession to the Cuyahoga


I'd unclench a drowning man's arm.
I'd covet a yacht's morose anchors.

River which crests the sandbags, which makes the lake homes
Memories of lake homes, I am but a tool

........................................................................................Forgive me. Forgive

My socks, unrolled, moth-chewed. Forgive
My feet, unwashed, propped atop my backpack.

If every dockside smokestack is a chute to the underworld
Then every smokestack's brick is a choice:
............................................................................To spit once
Or to spit twice, or to simply paper-bag my vodka.

Daylight savings dusk has ceased
And the oil in the water & the water shouldn't be the same—

Floating, crushed milk jug...................you are my catamaran.


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The Start of the End of the World


smells of Moose-Track ice cream
...........after the moose has been
......................swallowed

by the brambleberry, the gooseberry,
the bogberry, & the bog
geysers tar
......................just as the infant's small
......................mouth,...........once a home
......................for indistinguishable
......................syllables,

now has carrots jammed
like nuts in a squirrel
cheek, & the up-

..................................shot: a thousand choking children
..................................& by extension, two thousand
..................................frenzied parents, all car-
..................................colliding, headed
..................................to the same
..................................hospital

where the ventilators are busted,
the electricity has shorted
itself, & first

..................................the town, then the state,
........................then the country
..............of once obedient
robots raise their gamma rays & Shit,

I let the roast brown too long
& the potatoes are jokes
...........................................potatoes would tell one another
...........................................right before they bloomed
...........................................eyes,

which means their guts are verging
rot, & their skin will shrivel,
their starch dissipate

...........................................as in my mouth they'll taste
...........................................like silt, the earth's last
...........................................shred, not fire.


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return to sawbuck 3.2

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Joseph P. Wood's first book of poems, I & We, is forthcoming from CustomWords Editions in Fall 2010. He is also the author of two chapbooks: In What I Have Done & What I Have Failed to Do (Elixir Press) and Travel Writing (Scantily Clad Press). Recent poems can be/will be found in Copper Nickel, Drunken Boat, Front Porch, Natural Bridge, Typo, among others.