"businesslike" poems
“We’re cleared for takeoff,” the pilot announced, “settle in, our flight time to Atlanta will be 9 hours.”
The Gulfstream roared down the runway and in a moment the tops of trees flashed by. We climbed quickly, and banked. Paris dwindled, the Seine became a string of blue, the world a patchwork of colors before we punched through a layer of hair-like cirrus clouds.
My roommates and friends were all a-chatter as we lined up on the runway but as we ascended, they grew quiet.
Thoughts of Peter ran through me and gripped me like a serpent. The last time I saw him he was dressed in a summer outfit I bought him - a short-sleeve, pale-pastel-plaid seersucker shirt, kentucky-derby breaker shorts, pop color flip flops and a straw fedora. His sweet-face was all grin, he looked like a deck gillespie. Meow.
When I think about Peter, my skin tickles, my pulse accelerates, I’m confuddled. I think about the disturbance that moved through the air between us when we met. We were strangers, but a magnetic flux seemed to roll off him and break against me.
I didn’t let it show. I drew in, looked away and became quiet. What else could I do? Later, when I described it to Sunny, our meeting seemed like nothing. When I described it to Lisa, it sounded like too much.
Of course, my choices must be consistent with my ambitions, but I want Peter to come to Athens, so badly. He was a human placebo, for me, in otherwise stressful times. Now I want to be with him without school pressures - to see what that’s like - and get closer, a lot closer.
I don’t want commitment, but I’m saturated with desire. All I want is a fun July or August - with him. I seldom reveal the businesslike hardness I have buried inside. I want this and I’m ready for derp.
Peter worries - about money, about gender roles, social positions and what’s apposite. I don’t care about any of that. I want to give him a free month, like an amazing gift. He’s so male, so deceptively complicated, fragile and intoxicating.
I really need to think about this, and work it out - HA! - like I can think of anything else.
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 8:58 AM UTC
The incessant twang of complexity against my ribs
Accompanies the unwanted phantom touch on my hips
But the gentle caress of healing only barely brushes my lips
This is a beginning, but it feels like an ending with no postscripts
The things I used to find comfort in are futile
Against the battering of emptiness against my chest; it's brutal
But physically, I'm intact. Selfishly, I'd feel better if it was gruesome
However, only my mind is in disarray, if I'm being truthful
Do you know what it feels like?
Sometimes it feels dreamlike
More aptly nightmarish, but lifelike
A distant reality, objective, almost businesslike
It feels like a sordid, shameful affair
Although I played no part in the cause of my despair
I am the one who has to deal with it, so I send up a prayer
My soul hopes for speedy repairs
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 5:41 PM UTC
don't know
how to feel when
I see your face.
hastily shove on
this mask and
become
prepared and
blank powerful
and cold.
angry to be
full of so much
sadness, blocked
beyond pain.
and then I morph.
into some sort
of businesslike
zombie who
packs up this part
of her life.
cobbles together
her dignity.
andgetsthehelloutbeforesheremembershowtocry
again.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
These nights in bed
Where I am up much too late
Espiecally with such early class
But the stress of those classes-
No, the stress of the people
Make it a need to drown the demons
I can handle class
Flick of the wrist
Five minutes each.
People are much harder
I try to relate how I can
To my friends who I cling to
But I am not good at this.
Stumbling to bashful words
Nothing interesting on my mind but businesslike questions.
I want to say
"How do you feel today?"
But I often get the same **** answer.
"I'm good."
********* we're teenagers.
Nothing's ever just 'good'.
Whenever I do come up with something
Ears are sewn closed
Mouths repeating 'mmhm' like a mantra.
And then there's the loneliness
Can I help it if I want a gentle hand,
And maybe a pretty face?
Forced relationships aren't my thing.
I've seen it and I'm seeing it
So I stray far from that.
Okay, maybe a few friends are okay.
Though who knows how long that'll last.
I'm pretty good at ******* those up.
So the stars watch me
And listen my crooning sobs
Sung out like an opera.
I hope and pray for better luck
And slowly it comes.
But for now, music stays my friend,
My bed my lover.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Sadness lengthens into night
And with it goes attention
To all the bends and pressures
Of sensitive emotions
Taking with it further thought
Suspending truth and light
It soothes the mind with calmness
Destroying it with memories
With businesslike precision
Recalling every warmth
Computerizing feelings
As though an everyday occurrence
We approach a curtain
Which sometimes falls and rises
Separating sections
Of people and surroundings
And like a catalogue of names
We research each part
Pondering what went wrong
Or why it didn't work
To come to a conclusion
Or so we'd like to think
On every single act
Until given second thought....
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC