Poems
by Richard LeDue

 

Where do they come from?

 

Those little black bugs

that invade my house every summer-

are they reincarnated politicians

who never got caught in life

in the lies that we know are true,

and why does the mouse shit

in my crawlspace

try its damnedest to not stink

of another metaphor we need

to make up to belittle all

our political enemies we never met?

 

 

 

 

 

The Health Benefits of Wine

 

Maybe I should write a poem

about wine, so I can appreciate

the papercut on god’s thumb,

or pretend it makes me

look smarter

than my favorite cheap whisky-

at home at the bottom

of a dollar store paper cup,

while blocking out the sun

once again.

 

 

 

 

 

Homemade Darkness

 

Sitting by myself with the lights off,

content with how the darkness feels

homemade, especially when doomscrolling

at 1 AM, reluctantly accepting

the world we want is too much

like apple juice and baker’s yeast

taking too long to ferment,

leaving Sibelius to help

distill my own despair

on another thrift store CD.

 

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