The Poetry Of.
Joseph Lisowski..............................................
ROCK THE CRADLE/SPANK THE BABY
No time to think
'cause if I do
my brains feel like cat's eyes
marbles pingin' offa walls,
chippin' concrete
like they's shot from a gun-
dust everywhere catchin' sun,
spreadin' a thousand rainbows
that I can't resist.
Could lose weeks that way,
not that it matters none.
What is it I gotta do?
I ain't workin',
ain't lookin' for a thrill,
but I gotta move.
It's not like I'm bed bound,
some bug stuck on his back.
Jeez, what's it gonna take
to push this weight outa sleep
an' onto the street?
KAZU GETS CAUGHT LOOKIN
People pass me ona street, look away.
They usta cross to the other side,
now just shake their heads,
the ones that notice.
Most is like I'm dead wood,
ole trash, not even dangerous
like disease. They just pass by,
the way I passed by
when I had somethin' goin',
my body clean an' young,
my head filled with tomorrow-
(No steam comin' now from this ole tupa).
Not that I mind much.
I just look, don't even wonder.
Been that way for years.
'Cept one day, smart-ass Stashu,
drunk as a roller coaster,
crashes into me an' we splatter
ona sidewalk. He recognizes me right off.
"Kazu, why you bringin' me down!
Ain't you dead yet?"
Stashu never usta get the better of me.
I look but pretend I don't see.
KAZU'S EARLY ROMANCE
I follow this woman down grocery aisles,
up soups, down cereals. She
knows I'm there but doesn't go
outa her way to look away.
It comes natural, so I'm caught.
I keep puttin' stuff ina cart
I'd never eat-minestrone an' Sugar Pops-
I tell myself this is nuts
an' damn if she don't pick up
a can of cashews.
She looks straight at me-
I still remember the color of her eyes-
an' I stop.
I don't remember how long
I stand there.
Next thing I know
nothin's familiar.
It's like I'm in another life.
I leave the cart,
no idea where to go.
* 'Stashu' is an amalgam of voices from the Lawrenceville neighborhood in Pittsburgh where Joseph grew up in the midst of up-unemployed steel workers, disenfranchised immigrants, often chronic drunks,- who, in spite of it all, had not totally given up hope. These poems are from Joseph Lisowski's unpublished full-length collection, "STASHU KAPINSKI DREAMS OF GLORY".
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