I stand on a day room table and shout:
“I’m alive, God bless you, Jesus; I’m still alive!”
Oh, for Christ sake!
I’m still alive?
Is nothing, know nothing, be nothing.
I am the blood of Christ; these bright red
splats on slate grey walls.
My reflection is soft and feminine, my eyes
Birth, death, infinity
We are a miracle fighting to happen.
✳ † ∞
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Trina chats with a snake in the garden.
The snake curls up on Trina’s lap: “What if I die and never
Trina replies: “I saw a slice of death, once. When I got to
heaven flash bulbs went off and I heard a chorus of angels
“I saw lots of homosexuals: they danced and had sex and made
“Then, I passed through a long tube and came out here!” Trina
smiles at the memory.
The snake looks up with concern: “Is that what’ll happen to me?”
“I don’t know.” Trina pulls out a notebook. “God doesn’t like you.”
“What are you doing?” asks the snake.
“I’m writing a poem.” Trina replies.
“What’ll you do with it?” The snake slithers up and onto the notebook.
“Sell it to Proctor and Gamble, silly!”
The snake drops from the notebook to the grass. “Have you given much thought to space?” he asks.
“Not in a million years.” Trina replies.
Then she sighs and writes her rhyme:
I was feelin’ kinda shitty
really small and itty bitty
garden snakes talked and
my lovers all walked
but at least
I was still very
(c)Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved