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Best Poems From
LAURENCE OVERMIRE
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325.
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Office Christmas Party
The fake ivy
Climbed up the fake gingerbread wall
And curdled round a fake sprig of mistletoe
Hanging precariously
From a fake wooden beam
Giving fake support to a fake ceiling.
Our feet infirmly planted on a fake leaf-laden floor
My true love gave to me
A fake kiss
In front of all of our fake friends
Smiling fakely
And singing
Peace on Earth, goodwill to men.
Then they all got drunk
And weaved their way home in their BMWs.
(Previously published in Nuvein, Dec.2000)
Laurence Overmire
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326.
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Old Man and a Bench
Old man sitting on a bench
In the park
At the edge of town.
The paint is peeling
The boards rotting away
From years of pelting from the rain
But he calls it friend
This lifeless stone and weathered pine.
It gives him respite
At the close of day
Puts his weary limbs to rest
And brings a smile to his leathered face.
They sit together
The bench and he
Two lost companions
Fading in the darkness
Of the setting sun.
(Previously published in Bardo Burner, Jan 2000, no.12)
Laurence Overmire
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327.
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Old Man On The Bed
Old man on the bed
Where do you go
When the lights are dark
And the nurse calls out
Through the door?
You cannot hold your orange juice
And the peas run down your chin
You seem to look right through the walls
Past the TV spewing noise
You cannot hear the endless drone
Of a ringing telephone.
The tubes shoot venom into your heart
Hanging bottled masks to hide your head
White sheeting shroud to cover your loins
There is breath from your lips
But life is long spent
No wonder.
I wish I were there with you
Wherever you go
Old man on the bed
When the lights are dark...
In some dreaming place
There are fields of green
Soft meadows and grassy hills
And there you are walking
With a boys careless smile
Your hat in your hand
Your face to the sky
Stopping to smell the flowers
That grow by the way.
Laurence Overmire
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328.
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Old Shoes
Old shoes
Broken-soled brothers
Have seen happier days
I remember when I bought them
My young hands pulled the laces tight
I looked smart in those shoes
Dancing with the girls on a hot summer night
Smoking cigarettes in the gloom
Waiting for a dream to slip into the back seat
Of a 57 Chevy.
Ah, but
Old shoes
Dont last long
And old feet grow tired
From all the walking.
There comes a time
When both must part
An ignominious end
In some forgotten field
Covered with pungent earth
Discarded debris.
(Previously published in Some Words: A Place For Poetry, Feb.2000)
Laurence Overmire
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