Careful, the naked woman in the
bathroom mirror stands behind you
as if she has something in her hands
she finds difficult to show you.
Does she want to turn you to yourself?
But what would you find that you
do not want to know?
Or is she about to suggest again
a couple months separation?
That 3-day no speaking moratorium
did neither of you any good.
No, you don't look at yourself
only at her through the mirror.
Careful, do not ask the mystery
of her distant downcast eyes.
Ah, just as you are about to
snap off the lights
to end this little scene
she holds up the busted TROJAN!

i wander along the walkways
where the tame animals are fenced
and where the loyal crowd climb
up to the big top
i'm paid a pittance
to put on a little show
before the big one starts
i never tire of
petting the elephants,
the tigers, even the
tiny black spiders
that crawl along
the picket fences
my hat is a paper mache affair
that keeps coming loose
till it looks like part of my hair
i have shoes too big for my feet
and most days my smile
is only half complete
people see me
think i'm a good **** for their jokes
let's taunt this
doddering, nerdy bloke
nobody laughs at me except
when i cry
it's like i'm back in school
the poor picked on guy
i'm silent like Keaton
quiet no riot
though sometimes i fear
a bully might sneak up
and give me a beatin'
but bravely i forge on
happy when i hear
the roustabouts warbling a song
or an elephant yawning in
the early dawn
i don't complain much
though i hunger occasionally
for a tender touch
i think of my lost loves
but that just makes me cry
i pull out my hanky
and daub while
the people get
a good laugh passing by
my life is here
but one day will go
and people will then say,
"you don't mean THAT poor Joe?"
and maybe the band
will strike up a tune
and maybe not
fame i have never sought
luck or no luck
life's just the way
the cookie crumbles
so let the acrobats tumble
the trapeze artists take
their flips and the
lions roar at every crack of the whip
i remain a clown
of no renown
who rarely hears the clapping sound

huge black hulk of sunken sagging bedding
his armchair has seen its better days
his mousy derelictions from society's dictums
have born a wastrel with feet of clay
a bookworm hiding from the birds of prey
a lover unloved except for that long ago kiss on a Paris quay

cigarette burns and sudden coffee spills
scarce paper and broken quills
tribunal assaults on ambition's embattled frays
he holds fast to this chair
through many a  disorienting maze
holds fast to this comfort flop of better days

canaries mourn the demise of his old dog lassie
while johns down the street rejoice over their ******' chassis
and the ice cream man takes a breather on the Santa Monica sands
listening to the far away poet
wrap up his film in the can
for video night at the local poetry slam

milk wood meetings in slumberous afternoons
enforce the guilt of absent attractions
though grateful bon ami erases
evidence of the satisfaction
then often leans back in his chair
falling asleep on a half remembered line of Poe or John Clare

awakening wishing once for a computer
though he thinks them a crime
a luddite at heart
neighbors revile him for being an old ****
yet sometimes he sinks deeper into his chair
imagining taking the big step if he dare

burp me mrs sweeny pleads
to her lover who raps her on the back
2 or 3 times and a fourth for FOOD luck
as on the bachelor's chair they commence to ****
though after stepping into the morning's widowed wind
all seems bleak and commonly thin

but both he and she kept the loss of a sedentary promise fearfully within

He loves to hear the rapturous whistle blowing clearing his mind of dark despairs,
to breathe in the scented whoosh of the slowing wheels
as he stands on the platform watching the arrival of another train.

Coast Starlight, Sunset Limited, Southwest Chief, each with a name.
He joins the other watchers standing there without shame
to greet the wave of an engineer or porter, sunshine or rain.

It's the pageantry.
It's the arrival and departure majesty.
It's the impromptu theater soothing a soul's troubling pain.

There are times he books a Pullman berth, its pillow he snuggles
to lose all the world's cares and struggles,
while rocking so blessedly to the clickety-clack refrain.

One such morning enthralled by seeing America's historic prairies
outside his window, he sets forth prancing through noisy unbalancing vestibules that make him even more merry!
till he reaches the car where like a king he'll reign.

Breakfast in the sun-splashed diner, pancakes and ham,
joking with the headwaiter, and being lavished with free side dishes by the cook, and smiling broadly like a suitor when a lady blushes
from a compliment he makes on her gams.
Though never too busy to sneak a look at the lunch menu where he decides he'll order later the hot meatloaf sandwich with gravy on a wheat bun of  7 "healthy" grains.

Late afternoon in the club car, a Coke by his side
he asks the guy opposite, "Enjoying the ride?"
"You bet! Beats the hassle with planes."

The stranger continues, "Going far?" he asks.
"No. Here and there. Keeping active since my wife passed."
"Ah, nobody wins the life game."

"Honey, the kids want a hamburger"-a stunning blonde stands over the guy who rises, shakes hands and says goodbye.
The train watcher feels a loss he can't explain.

But the lulling vistas of farmland and the soothing whistle blowing such pleasing keys
soon abolish all traces of unease.
He knows when arriving at his destination he'll be the first to ride back again down the all-healing railway lane.