Deborah Evans
Deborah Evans was born in Detroit, Michigan during one of the best years for American movies. She is a rogue student of the zen of travel and The Chicken Wing. Currently Chicago-based, she is preparing for approaching winter by acquiring stocks of quality discount poetry. One day, her website, www.poetrydeluxe.net will be fully functional, and war will be a thing
of the past...."
KNOWING WHAT YOU DON'T WANT
And there is a dog,
maybe a wolf,
speaking:
"Come down from that ladder,"
he instructs.
And, yes, I do
follow his loping run
down that garten path.
Or maybe:
I'm gambling--in Nebraska's airport
and wearing white skiwear.
Sagely, father places his hand
on the back of my neck
so I won't board.
And there is that dog, maybe a wolf,
my host for a few moments' neural activity,
warning me:
"Vegas is not the town for you."
ANOTHER (KIND OF) LOVE POEM
Tonight,
on television:
Scientists shuck open a two ton shark!
Actually,
they sort of fillet the thing:
Head intact,
jagged-edged jaw stiff and gaping,
the shark appears rather agonizingly unconcerned
as its body is ribbon and wrapping stripped.
Once revealed, the gift momentarily confuses me.
I think:
What strange bones make a shark
pointy like teeth is its spine.
Then, I realize the scientists
handle the partially digested body
of a smaller predator.
Next, they draw out a large block of flesh:
a mucousy, stringy bird's oozy corpse.
Noses lingering,
the scientists wipe their faces
against the shoulders of their lab coats.
The smell, of course, is horrible.
They don't wear masks.
It's 3:30 in the morning.
I lay next to your sleeping body.
I cannot rest.
Something about the light in this room:
like a murky, surreal aquarium....
Your mouth is open as you snore.
So dark in there.
When you wake later this morning,
I'll be here beside you.
But understand:
I won't be feeding you breakfast.
TO THE GOSSIPS IN THE WORKPLACE
THAT AREN'T GETTING LAID PROPERLY
When you attempt to confuse this vice with some other's,
presented is a detour that cannot be circumvented:
A face a Stoic could paste all over
the not so ancient baths and gaming places
as representative of
just not giving a fuck.