Poetry: That Muggy August Night

That muggy August
night we waited for
a stranger:

a new boyfriend who
didn’t show.

Momma swore an
threw a stone:

it bounced and
sparked before it
cracked on the
concrete porch–

An momma cried
An momma slapped
An momma bit
An momma snapped–

all because
of that boyfriend
who didn’t show.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1983-2019

 

 

 

Poetry: Honeysuckle and Easter

A shimmering butterfly
circles the honeysuckle
in the backyard where
sunflowers grow a
foot tall, by daddy’s
garage where doo-wop
streams from the radio
this hot Passover Day

slurping Kool-Aid and
munching matzah
in my Superman
clubhouse

wishing my Sister
would go away.

(c) Rob Goldstein 1984-2019
“It’s Superman” Rob Goldstein 2019

Poetry: At Ease

His presence, persistent,

I am the curvy wall

under blankets, pressed to black,

but how

these swollen bruises.

He says

I’m his tough little girl

his half-baked boy

his meat

                (c) Rob Goldstein 5/5/1993-02/28/2019

 

 

 

Poetry: Grandma Said

Grandma said

the poor go first,

kids like me,

she said–

if the war

don’t end–

but I was

too delicate,

too pretty,

too likely to kiss

the gook’

if he was

cute.

Rob Goldstein, March 2019