The Call at Third Base
“As Pirates infielder Rudolpho Castro slid into third base, his cell phone shot out of his pocket. Major League Baseball does not allow players to use electronic devices during play.”
—The New York Times
I try to be a patient son
each time Ma rings me on the phone.
This time I blurted, “Gotta run!
I’ll call you back when I get—home.”
Dear Mum,
Imperial Nude, 1977, oil painting of Paul Rosano by Sylvia Sleigh (b. Wales 1916; worked in New York, NY; d. 2010).
Poem is in the imagined voice of this artist.
Just got the clipping that you sent. I see
your local critic’s “utterly appalled”
by my most recent work, and you agree.
Mum, why so shocked to see a guy who’s sprawled
across a couch and happens to be nude?
Think of Goya, Rubens, Ingres, Renoir—
those Masters didn’t think it one bit rude
to paint idealized, naked women. Men are
handsome individuals; God knows
I never try to paint an archetype.
I’m proud my work’s in several New York shows,
so screw the Welsh Gazette, Mum. Don’t snipe
about “appearances”—forget all that.
I pay this model, paint him, and we chat.
Cummings and Goings
E. Estlin went missing the day
that cummings (ee) came to stay.
Perhaps cummings ate him,
becoming verbatim
a small man of letters per se.
The Robertolink
The name’s pronounced with two rolled Rs.
The males cavort like movie stars,
feathered Don Juan avatars
when in Brazil, their winter den.
There each, a northern citizen,
yearly thinks he’s born again,
extending one black wing in twirls
and slow flamenco swoops and whirls
he’s learned from watching dancing girls.
In spring, alas, he’s northward bound,
back to the fields where he is found,
a bobolink on common ground.
Don’t Think Twice
Frizzily-whizzily
Robert A. Zimmerman,
Jewish and musical
midwestern boy,
left for Manhattan with
new name of Dylan and
unhesitatingly
Bobbed himself goy.
Five-Legged Spider
No one sidles up to chide her
at the table with the chips.
Her hand, like some enormous spider,
cradles crackers and re-dips.
Joe to Go
She faced each morning bright and chipper
with her fresh-perked mug of joe.
Decaf made her calmer, hipper,
but how she missed that jumped-up glow.
Death By a Nose
My
throat
began to
itch; now it
scrapes and a
swallow feels as
if it lacerates. My
sinuses are clogged
like faulty drains, and
my head is pounding as
if to burst this debilitated
brain. Would I could finagle
a life de-nasal and ditch this
snout. Hold my calls. Adopt
my dog. It’s my final, fatal
cold; of that I haven’t
any doubt.
Upside of Down
Who needs to join a gym to spin,
or run around the streets alone?
I tread my miles while staying in
and hunting for my mobile phone.
“Five-Legged Spider” and “Joe to Go” first appeared in Barbara Lydecker Crane’s collection BackWords Logic (Local Gems Press, 2017).