Hawaiian Shirts in the Electric Chair

Hawaiian Shirts in the Electric Chair

  poems

  Scott Laudati

  Copyright © 2014 by Scott Laudati

  (KUBOA)/SmashWords Edition

  www.kuboapress.wordpress.com

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  Can we live

  like this?

  it didn’t take so long

  did it?

  your story’s

  in your

  smile, those lips

  once said

  “i’ll

  never

  love again”.

  i know

  you’re a fighter, kid,

  life

  didn’t take

  it’s time

  with

  you, but you’re

  not so bored,

  there’s still a light

  in there.

  sure,

  you

  can sway

  like the

  breezy

  palm trees

  of your hometown

  but i don’t

  want to

  know

  if you can bend ...

  can you break?

  i remember

  your greasy

  hair from

  the plane,

  your legs crossed

  on the white sheets,

  the slow surrender

  of your eyes

  when you realized

  i thought

  you

  were beautiful.

  it was sudden

  and eternal.

  i chose you

  to erase

  all my sorrows.

  will you?

  you see

  life in the raw

  and that makes me

  trust you.

  we know

  when

  we

  find

  our own

  i think

  about what it

  will be like.

  the coffee.

  the date.

  the booze.

  the bed.

  the cigarette.

  but

  i can

  leave those

  for the men

  that came

  before.

  i

  want

  your window,

  to

  watch

  the breeze

  through the leaves

  of those palms

  and wonder

  if this life

  actually

  existed before

  you got here

  Grit

  they all want to be artists

  they change their majors

  from psychology

  to sculpting

  they change later

  from sculpting

  to economics

  their parents say get a job

  save money

  you can work your art out on the weekends

  most give in

  get the job

  they sleep around in their twenties

  they get pregnant

  sometimes for love

  usually by accident

  they get promoted

  they become their refrigerator

  some stay on

  move to the dominican neighborhoods

  move to the outer boroughs

  keep hustling

  always one contact away from the big gallery

  thinking they made the sacrifice

  art owes them now

  one day it will happen

  but it doesn’t

  or when it does

  it’s just too late

  too much time happened

  to question, playing

  the ultimate gamble

  with no chance to return

  and get it right

  or rewind

  and try again

  but they bet their life

  and the ashtrays never emptied

  and the bottles never corked

  and they left something behind

  good or bad

  they wrote their own epitaphs

  and the graveyards

  and libraries

  and art galleries

  all filled

  because the artist lived

  and the artist left something behind.

  but whether the dream

  was lived out

  or sold out

  it’s hard to see a family

  on a blanket under a free sky

  every july 4th

  or around a christmas tree every december

  or taking a picture

  with mickey mouse in the florida summer

  and argue

  that the love that shares your name

  is the only art

  worth waking up for

  a garden

  east of eden

  if i could do it all over again

  there’s not much i would do the same

  i would say i love you a lot more

  to a lot less people

  i would only find brick walls on black and white streets

  to kiss against

  i would buy a shag carpet every day

  and lay in it

  and i would never eat until my chest was thin as paper

  so you could see that

  my heart

  looks

  like

  a heart

  and every time i’d say

  the house will always smell like fresh flowers

  i’d mean it

  and every car door i could open for you

  i’d open it

  and every cage that held a turtle

  i’d free it

  and every dog that had no home

  i’d adopt it

  and every door in the house that wasn’t painted yellow

  i’d paint it

  and every bike that had a basket

  i’d fill it

  and when i promised i was over it

  i would be

  but when i said

  i don’t want you to love me any more than you do

  i’d still be lying

  and i’d still hope that you were smarter than me

  and you wouldn’t change a thing

  We Need The Bomb

  we turned on the tv

  and they said, “we have

  the bomb, they

  have the bomb,

  the one’s to the

  north

  and the west

  have the bomb,

  but now

  THEY

  are trying

  to get

  the bomb

  and when they

  do

  the world will finally

  go out

  as it

  came in-

  the cataclysm of

  fission and fusion

  and all the fury

  of a billion

  years of anger,

  the madness of good men,

  and with their deaths

  will go

  the anger

  as it gets brought

  back

  to the place-

  wherever that

  place is

  that

  anger comes from.

  i was sto
ned enough

  to be

  afraid

  but you sat with

  me and drank

  something made

  for a

  vacation

  we never

  went on

  and you said,

  “well,

  we better get

  the bomb before

  they do.” and

  you took me

  to the bedroom. and

  for the first time

  you

  were violent

  and you

  were terrifying

  and the wall shook

  and i

  went

  blind

  with helpless orgasm.

  i’m not sure what the

  bomb

  will look like

  on the day all the leaders

  get together

  and decide to play

  a big game

  of dodgeball,

  but

  for the andromedans,

  and the reptilians

  watching

  from the moon-

  it’ll probably

  look like

  the earth

  going

  blind

  with helpless orgasm.

  New Jersey

  The world has found New Jersey,

  the

  new

  entertainment capital.

  like an ant farm

  on a glucose high,

  now,

  we crawl

  we build

  we eat each

  other, we carry the

  dead, we swarm the

  living, and we sit

  in

  your living

  room, while getting picked apart,

  and

  give joy

  to those viewing-

  that life can always

  hit a new low.

  they understand that when fate gives them

  the dagger, at least it didn’t come

  soaked

  in coconut oil.

  usually

  when the networks

  come and

  the advertisers pay,

  those on the other end-

  providing the

  laughs

  and the quotes,

  are the ones

  with the last laugh,

  that the spectators

  and the tourists

  are the fools

  for tuning in.

  but

  like the bad end of

  a casino game,

  it seems the joke

  is on us.

  and even though

  our pizza

  is better

  i’m pretty sure

  the masses

  are right.

  and for the first time

  in all history

  the masses are right for the right reason,

  and i’m not invited to the

  victory party

  To The Girl I Went

  On A Date With Last Night

  Your songs

  never got sadder,

  how can that

  be?

  Your mother

  still

  has your father

  you held onto

  your God,

  I didn’t

  know

  the world

  still deserved

  something like

  that

  Yea,

  I’ll go to brooklyn

  I’ll pay for the booze

  I’ll walk you around.

  we can stand.

  watch

  the sun go down

  behind

  the last projects of lower manhattan.

  I’ll wonder if I invented you

  and I’ll wonder if you’ll erase me.

  i’ve got the torch in

  my hand

  don’t turn

  your face too quickly,

  even a breeze

  will give the flames

  a reason

  to dance.

  you’ve got

  the after storm blue eyes.

  your eyes

  tell me you sat on this bench before,

  you

  know

  which two buildings

  the sun

  will split. it’s

  the knowledge

  of a broken heart.

  even with your God

  and

  your parents

  love has been a betrayal.

  you spent too much

  time on this bench

  alone. you

  know

  the bums,

  you know which hipster

  will bring the guitar

  and what song he

  will sing.

  you can’t know these things

  until you’re alone. and

  you can’t

  be alone

  until you’ve

  learned

  you’re only safe

  with

  yourself.

  it’s hard

  to know when

  to make a move.

  the last light has

  attached itself

  around your

  head

  like an

  icon.

  the divine glow,

  whatever

  that yellow

  ring

  is circling the white dove

  that means

  peace and love

  and the sun

  and spring

  and youth.

  i know i should

  kiss you now,

  but i don’t

  because

  you say

  “let’s swim to

  Manhattan”,

  and

  in the water reflection

  I realize I’d rather see you smile

  than see

  your face touching mine

  And maybe

  it

  should end like that.

  with us

  not touching

  and I could know

  you

  like the

  birds know the sky.

  and I won’t have to invent you.

  and you’ll never have to erase me.

  your songs

  will stay sweet

  and we

  can share the dark places

  of our hearts

  that

  no one else

  gets to see.

  i’ll

  love you

  like only a man

  who never gets the girl

  can,

  and every day

  will feel like

  those

  last minutes

  we put our heads

  to the ground,

  figuring out

  how to

  share our first kiss

  goodbye

  Wait For It

  There's not a high enough hill on earth to stand on and scream for God. I can see you. Above the trees. A long blue sky with big fleece clouds. Pointing your finger straight up, demanding first salvation, then a few dollars, and finally, just acknowledgment. But he never shows. How can that surprise you? You were never able to get us on the ground to stop laughing at you. You think God is going to turn the television down?

  take the Path for

  cocaine and PLATH

  i left her apartment

  with nowhere to be

  and no home

  to hurry to.

  her advertising job kept

  the work-shift late

  and the wake up calls

  early.

  in between i would show up

  on her Eastside

  apartment doorstep

  with a bo
ttle

  of wine.

  she’s been with people

  i know,

  people

  way cooler than me

  but I had an advantage-

  i knew their

  strategies. I’d seen

  them at work,

  and I remembered the times

  when she was bored

  and

  i remembered how much

  she liked danger

  what could stand me out

  from the rest?

  ... cocaine

  i have a friend in newark

  she squares up

  with a guy. his family

  ships the good stuff

  in through some fish market or

  he’s a port authority cop.

  the nights we

  got honest enough to share

  dealers our noses

  were bleeding

  and the dog tried stopping

  us before

  our heartbeats caused seismic shifts

  -the details come and go (mostly go)

  but i crossed the river to jersey,

  got the candy

  then took the train underwater

  and

  headed back

  uptown

  she was happy to see me.

  she went to the bathroom

  i pulled

  a mirror off the wall

  and cut two

  lines. i heard the shower

  water go on. i made

  the lines

  a little bigger.

  i

  could smell chemical

  fruit coming

  from under the bathroom door.

  i shaped

  each line

  into

  3 quarters of a

  heart. they were perfect.

  with a space

  big enough

  to

  start

  and

  end

  without messing up

  the powder

  she came out

  and looked

  at my creation.

  “what

  is

  that?”

  “cocaine”

  “I don’t want any cocaine. Why am i looking

  at cocaine?”

  “What says I love you

  like our noses

  sharing

  a dollar bill?”

  she was angry.

  i’d had her all

  wrong. i went for a walk

  while she calmed

  down.

  how could i get

  this girl

  to fall for me?

  i looked for

  a park.

  i was going to find a dog park

  so i could

  steal

  her a puppy,

  but

  a used book store

  had a cart

  out on the

  sidewalk.

  i wanted to read something

  about failure

  but

  i didn’t.

  i bought a copy of

  the sun also rises- for me

  and something by sylvia plath- for her

  she opened the door on the first knock

  i handed her

  both books.

  “why?” she asked.

  “i want to build a library with you”

  we ate pho

  and used

  our

  first two books as coasters

  i

  don’t

  know

  if she fell in love with me that night,

  but i’m pretty sure

  she will

  the dog days are over

  sometimes

  when i lose too much faith in the world-

  too many wars

  too many police

  all going so right

  for the wrong,

  i look at my dog,

  fearless

  asleep

  farting

  shedding

  all over my couch.

  a wild animal brought in

  to serve a purpose