Three Poems by Rita Stein


Dr. Jane


Shallow breaths. Present. Static.

Technicolor mammograms.

I am
not the one
to run in
and
save the day.

It’s not safe to have company at the breakfast table.

Not safe to quibble on the platform.

No one ever wows the clown.

A surreal animation knocks on the door.

The beauty of the apple
is its refracted sense of imagery.

You could go blue or ghost or funhouse.

I don’t know that there is
any way around this.
A pot of coffee
and all the cream it takes to shut you up.

No one ever wows the clown.

Not safe to try.


What Was (Valerie’s Apt.)

What was my favorite city-
San Jose-first
time in California,
all that walking and
warm nights,
a little cocaine
and mild
propositions

After flooding
a friend’s bathroom
Dan White
committed suicide
We traveled to Santa Cruz
to ooh and aah

It’s like
gas drilling
You leave
every substance
you love
every particle
It all turns up again
as reconstituted water

Nightime.

Wearing
red
shoes

The trees are
lined up for sale
It’s dreadfully
easy
It makes the city
smell brilliant,
irresistible,
unbelievably so


3rd Street Anecdote


The floor opens up in the middle
Suddenly air, the enormity of it

Over and over, a clarinet refrain,
like love, sweet and foul

This December day, wet snow

Reading under a blanket,
no heat

Violins now, and a coronet
Feels less dangerous in here

Erik Satie is being announced

I find myself enjoying
what I don’t like
A reluctant orgasm of a sort
Who’s performing here, I wonder

Snow resting on the ground
Cat on the balcony across
The quiet is so fragile

Packing to leave
Threw out stinky soup
Examined a soft spot on the wood floor

We take a break from this,
say goodbye


Rita Stein is fending off a cat while posting poems. She created 811.54 to post poems from friend and foe. Rita is a middle school librarian in Brooklyn.