Daily Archives: November 3, 2017

The word “Singapore” in three poems

The Pompeii of Allegan County

Five black and white aerial photographs.

The first from before the dune buggy business;

a landscape of sand and tires being the fifth.

Your trees were eaten by a big shouldered city

and you choked on sand.

Now there's a panel discussion about your warm shoulders

and a frozen steamer shipwreck buys you meals.

“Show me the lions!“ you spill,

leaning on a dark afternoon of

Pistons and Cubs in a Main Street bar.

“TripAdvisor is poetry, but soullessly so.”

I disagree.

“Like this: killer crazybumpy dune buggy rides!”

We honk at cows, castles of Amway, and baby food mansions.

A cedar waxwing, whistling and sighing. Black River Street.

Cakes Alive.

Truck stop: Amish beards and dresses, Saugatuck couples and “visiting whatevers”.

At the Singapore Yacht Club: oranges and a selfie with clouds.

A bell made from a circular saw; buried in sand.

Loud and clear.

That kiss, in a ghost town of boats.

Loud and clear.


Dreaming Around

The pink room dream

The dream of a canoe

The family after-dinner badminton by the lake dream

Dreaming on Greyhound

Super 8 dream

Those save the robots dreams

Sakura dreams

My dream love

A dream of giving birth

The Singaporean dream

Goodbye dream, goodbye

I have a dream of reunions and forgiveness

The pink room dream



Julie says 35 people are there,

there because they love you.

I would hide too.

You’ve got a divine chariot to catch

and those 35 whispering sleepwalkers

just want to touch you

one last time.

Doug: breathe...

That's a heavy thought,

easy to say as I watch the sky in Singapore.

But breathe again, Doug... please.

Now I remember: the King Cole Pizza place.

You're sitting there;

Lewis and Alexis.

Summer, Friday night.

They're boxing it up;

We’re smelling that pizza.

We’re 18 and we like it. Love it.18,18...

Hair’s lookin’ good.

Blue denim jacket,

the rock and roll Falcon’s outside.

You’re cool as Van Halen

Man, that pizza smells good...