A Spin Around the LoveYou turned my world
I walked on the sky.
I looked up and saw the ground.
Then you righted it
with the curse of the every day.
I flopped around dizzily for a time
with dirt on my head,
clouds in my shoes.
Eventually, I got my bearings back.
Now the sky is there when my eyes glance up,
the earth is where my feet land.
You said that’s how love matures.
It drops you off where it found you.
Our First HouseThey shoved forms under my nose,
handed me a pen,
said, “Sign next to the X.”
My name on the dotted line
and no more cold upstairs flats,
bruising fights next door.
I signed because
I loved peace, hated heavy metal,
despised ant armies marching
across counter-tops, enjoyed
a woman’s touch and her breath
on my right cheek.
The future was here
and I could move in right away.
The Look of Love or SomethingThat last look of mine
wasn’t contempt I assure you.
But nor was it love.
It was like that expression that crosses my face
when the wide receiver drops a pass
or Barry Manilow comes on the radio.
That fumble-fingered idiot
is a paragon to the other side’s supporters.
And Manilow brings schmaltzy joy
to so many million households
with one saccharine ode to Mandy.
So try to consider that look
as contempt made loving
by the fact that not everyone is me.
By the way, I shut down the TV,
turned off the radio.
Comparisons were getting me nowhere.
Copyright © 2014 John Grey
John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in The Lyric, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, The Kennedy Curse with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review and the Oyez Review.