1.9.23

Two Poems by John Kucera

Dow Jones Dream

Someone is tossing fish from the roofs
And you swim the violent current down Broadway towards Central Park 

Past steel hot dog carts and rusted fish caves once garbage bins brimming with takeout boxes.
Perched behind a drowned oak tree

Alice and the Mad Hatter ask

About the state of the markets.

When the helicopters shred the sky 
They will ask if you are here for the light show 
And for proper identification

Cash is also acceptable.
The annual burning of the older 
Houses bring the wealthier crowds
On their fancy foam noodles, rubber hands 

Built with waterproof cameras
They only like the old houses,
Those rusted gates and outdated 

Number plates when they burn.
Here come the sirens, 
Those jazz songs that warn of the waves, the 

Breached seawall Sinatra always plays on payday.

The tourists are never ready for the skyscrapers,
Their windows crashing against rocks until the shoreline

Dots with gray sea glass the marble stairs to the library a hill of preening seabirds.

When they invented the boats, we knew the worst was over, it had to be. So, what more could we do but celebrate?

A body that no longer needed to swim.


Cohabitation

She only opens her door to the winds who liberate the dead pinned to her mirror
      To bury them higher up in a hole in the air

The cliff, she says, is crumbling like a poor man’s bread and it’s not those taciturn
      Oaks which will save the landscape’s reputation

She also says that she only has to wait for the fifth season for her dead to come
     Back to her honeyed tears on the apple-tree’s cheeks

They’ll straddle the fog
Mount the dogs
Soil the hallway
To express their disapproval
Questioning the calends complicates the route of the sun lodged in her chicken house

      Since the hens began laying their eggs in the river
Curses on thresholds that don’t know how to gather footsteps she repeats until

      It intoxicates her
Curses on hands that turn bread into grief
Curses on water which becomes frost when you drink it

Her long cohabitation with the mountain taught her that birds migrate at night so
      That they won’t know the road is long.