Douglas K Currier: 3 poems

Artworks by Ann Privateer

Death will come

Verra la morte e avra i tuoi occhi
						questa morte che ci accompagna
						dal mattino alla sera, insonne, 
						sorda, come un vecchio rimorso 
						o un vizio assurdo.
							“Verra la morte e avra i tuoi occhi” Cesare Pavese
She’s the one you met 
when your dog died 
sixty years ago, the one 
you’ve been waiting for, 
the one in the grade school 
photo you lost, the one 
at your last middle school 
sock hop, the one so elusive 
as to be forbidden you in the 
backseat of your father’s car
– an old remorse, an 
absurd vice, a foolish damn 
dream, an obscure desire, 
a kindness forgotten until 
now when all that’s left 
you is memory.

Death at the museum

She knows every piece, every artist.  
Best tour guide, she can talk 
about desperation – that of creation, 
self-doubt, debt, self-loathing, 
the slow ebbing of talent, vision, 
gift, that of losses – sight, hearing, 
grip, but her area is really world-
weariness, battle fatigue, burnout, 
how quickly the flame extinguishes, 
how long before the burnt stops smoking.

Death at the movies

She sits in the back row, feet 
on the seat in front of her, 
and throws popcorn, talks 
constantly.  She’s already seen 
the show – every damn one, 
whispers the end of each 
– who dunnit, who gets the girl, 
who lives or dies.  Don’t even try 
to shush her.  You’ve no idea 
how many die in movie theaters.

Douglas K Currier holds an MFA in Poetry from the University of Pittsburgh and writes poetry in English and Spanish.  He has published in several journals: The Café Review, Main Street Rag, The Comstock Review, and others, as well as in the anthologies: Onion River: Six Vermont Poets, Getting Old, Welcome to the Neighborhood, and Poemas Zafados in North and South America.  He lives with his wife in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 

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