Tag: Wayne F. Burke

King of the Sandbox

I sat on top of the nursery school sand & rock
pile; I was King of the
playground.
One of my enemies climbed up after me
and I rolled a rock down on him.
He ran across the lawn, bawling–blood dripping from his
fingertips…

A tall woman told me
to sit on the floor of
a small room.

Voices of the children outside the house grew dim.
The voice of the woman, in the next room, grew
loud.

I squirmed on the rough carpet
waiting for Gramp to come and get me.

He took his sweet time.

Years later, in a Junior High School
classroom, I ran into the kid I’d rolled the
rock down on, and
he asked if I remembered him.
I said “yes.”
He said he remembered me
too.

Blarney

I went to J C Penny to buy
a swimsuit, but
they had nothing remotely resembling
a swimsuit, and
I bought a towel instead
and a t-shirt with a pocket
(got to have the pocket)
and went home
and took a shower
so I could use the new towel, and
I put my new t-shirt on afterward
and walked downtown
feeling good, almost
like a new man, and
I went to a meeting
but
it was not so much, the
same old members there
same old blarney
stone shit
I thought
man
I have got to get me
some kind of
new life
too.

Patience

crows making a racket
and a rainbow of short-lived
duration
in a sky weeping for the
loss of autumn;
you cannot have it all
sky
make up your mind
rain or shine
I am sick of your dilly-dallying
I have lost patience with you
sky
like when, as a kid
I kept getting stomach ache
and demanded something be done
but
all Gramp did was to say “patience,
m’boy, you got to have patience”
which
was easy for him to say:
He did not have
worms.

Four Score And…

In the 7th grade we
had to memorize the
Gettysburg Address and
rewrite it for a test.
Mary Jane Bugaboo
wrote the speech out
beforehand and
handed it in.
Miss Huffman, the
old battleaxe, knew
that trick from way
back, and for the test
had handed out
different sized paper
than the usual
8 X 11 inches.

100

The guy said that
his grandmother, who
smoked two packs of cigarettes
and drank a quart of whiskey
everyday of her life, died
at the age of ninety-six.
He said that her doctor, after
her death, said
that she probably would have lived until
one-hundred if not for the
booze and cigarettes.

©2024 Wayne F. Burke All rights reserved.

Wayne F. Burke’s poetry and prose have been widely published in print and online (including in CAJUN MUTT). He is the author of 8 published full-length poetry collections, one short story collection, and two works of nonfiction. He lives in Vermont (USA).

Dicky

My Uncle barged into my
bedroom
too early on a Saturday
morning, waving a sheet of paper
in his hand: “What is this?” he
demanded. “Who is this ‘Richard —-?'”
Omg.
Dicky.
I had hit him
with my car, while playing “chicken”
in the parking lot of the High School.
He had gone onto the
hood, into the windshield, and
over the roof.
I watched him, through the
rearview mirror, drop
as if out of the sky.
I had never liked the guy.
He lay on the asphalt
in a heap:
I began to apologize, solicitous as
a best friend;
he gave me a bitter look
of reproach and
slowly stood, and
began, thank god, to walk, like
a damaged old man with
a limp, toward the school…
“We are being sued for twenty thousand
dollars!” my Uncle shouted.
That fucking Dicky–
his father was a lawyer.

69 and Counting

I am 69 years old today, an
auspicious number, ‘ey?
Did not think I’d see 28 but
my number never called–
the luck of the draw, that’s
all–some prudence thrown
in, though I put myself in
position to die many times
through car accidents or
being in places black-outs’
brought me too…
The turn of the cards or the
Dealer? I don’t know.
A little of both, maybe.

What I Want

is human warmth, poetry, and
art. Fuck money–not my master
any more! Fuck lust–I seek the
end of desire: I stamp on the
embers before the flame ignites.
Fuck excitement–I’ve thought new
neuronal channels to keep endorphins
tamed. I’ve died to the frenetic life.
I’ve rejected the ice-cold motherfuckers
of the world.

©2023 Wayne F. Burke All rights reserved.

Wayne F. Burke’s poetry and prose have been widely published in print and online (including in CAJUN MUTT). He is the author of 8 published full-length poetry collections, one short story collection, and two works of nonfiction. He lives in Vermont (USA).