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Passing It Down by PAUL LOJESKI Near the end my father rented an old Cape in Orleans on Cape Cod. When I visited, bees were flying around the living room.  He didn’t seem to mind, but back then he had a wild look in his eyes and a bottle always close by. It was hot […]

Lojeski, Keefe and Orloski

by POETS' BASEMENT

Passing It Down

by PAUL LOJESKI

Near the end

my father rented

an old Cape

in Orleans

on Cape Cod.

When I visited,

bees were flying

around the living

room.  He didn’t

seem to mind,

but back then he

had a wild look

in his eyes and a bottle

always close by.

It was hot in his

greenhouse

of a house,

the large windows

flung open

to the gardens

in ripe summer

bloom.

Standing amidst

all that buzzing

and those thick,

powerful scents,

I watched him pace

about, grinning

and drinking

and waving

his arms like he

was trying

to fly.

I knew he was crazy

then, so what

did that portend for me?

Long after spreading

his ashes

in the sea,

I finally found out

but, man, my arms

are getting tired.

Paul Lojeski was born and raised in Lakewood, Ohio, where he received his formal education. He attended Oberlin College.  His poetry has appeared in ABZ, Barrow Street, Counterpunch and is forthcoming in Paumanok II, an anthology of Long Island poetry and photography.  He lives with his wife and daughter in Port Jefferson, NY.

 

Job Search

by PRIYA KEEFE

 

The shock of unemployment becomes a pathology in its own right.  –Robert Farrar Capon

 

I punch in:

 

We’re looking for an energetic, creative…

peon with a great sense of humor.

You should have a solid understanding….

Must have excellent

Must be familiar with

must – must

must love the Man  (qualified applicants can call him Daddy)

Must love exhaust fumes

Ability to leap tall buildings and bend

over a +

Demonstrated ability to do much with little

Master’s degree preferred

 

We are happy to employ happy employees

Please wow us.

 

This role will:

Question  Answer

Decide  Defer

Collaborate  Work Independently

Speak  Listen

Sit  Stand  Sit

Good Dog

and other duties as determined

by someone making more money than you

 

Job is contract

Job is part time

Job requires evening and weekend hours

Job requires 2 hours a day in traffic

Job requires experience

This is an entry level job

 

No phone calls

We’ll keep you in mind

We’ll keep you

We’ll keep you on tenterhooks

The future is the future

Past experiences must be past

We are sorry to be so sorry

 

Priya Keefe has had work published on a Dublin lamppost, Seattle buses, on the internet, and on paper.  Look for her work in The Nervous Breakdown and the Seattle City Council website.

 

 

The Soap Buffalo

by CHARLES ORLOSKI

 

1959, 3rd-Grade, Roosevelt School, Taylor Borough –

best friend Ronnie Casey thought I had “it made,”

’52 Pontiac, lamp-post, encyclopedias, TV, patio, a hot-water shower.

Beyond that, my father had a Teamster truck-driving job,

he didn’t drink all that much, an only child,

I had toy soldiers and cap-guns to play with; every night

mother taught me to bless myself, get on knees, pray

“Bozie watch over me, keep me away from danger and sickness.”  

 

Except for TV commercials heralding Red atomic attacks,

there wasn’t much danger in Taylor Borough,

just a shot fired into a mother’s chest by an angry teenage daughter,

a runaway cow from a Newton-Ransom farm, infected tonsils,

Mrs. Dubee’s homework assignments, that was all –

everybody appreciated used motor oil applications upon dirt roads,

no dust-in-eyes when lumber trucks came rolling by,

kids played kick-the-can, rode bicycle, when oil dried-up.

 

Perhaps Bozie couldn’t protect enough?

As if arithmetic and sentence conjugation weren’t enough pain,

Mrs. Dubee’s weekend homework assignment intruded –

Ron Casey and I, tasked with carving a buffalo out of soap;

I had Ivory soap bars aplenty, they floated upon water,

Casey’s “old lady” had  knack for knives, and Friday night,

after supper, it was off to Ronnie’s house,

somehow a bison-statue must appear, soap better not fall apart.

 

My distinct knock upon Casey’s door,

“Yo, Ron-nie!” 9-children cramped inside

a house built by Continental Coal Mine Company.      1.

Entered kitchen, Ron’s father “Joe” covered with coal-soot,

head to toe, he loaded coal-cars day to day,

only eyes distinguished him from Amos and Andy.  

Mrs. Edna Casey heated water upon coal stove, she poured

pots of water into Joe’s tin-tub, later the Casey boys

would dump unclean water outdoors, into gutter –

the Casey kitchen smelled different than my Pine Sol world.

 

So distinctly, with care, Edna Casey carved bars of soap,

I’d almost see a tear rise in a buffalo eye, and then CRACK –

she’d utter curse-words, exclaim, “We almost had the son-of-a-bitch.”

Fourth bar of Ivory, I knew a trip to Pat Langan’s Store was inevitable.

With short knife splices, careful chips, soap petals piled upon tabletop,

Mrs. Casey braided her hair, donned war paint, chanted,

“wu, wu, wu, wooh… wu, wu, wu, wooh,” carving persisted,

Mr. Casey’s out of tub, clean, a white-man once again,

Surprise…Surprise,

it’s hunting season 2012, Soap Buffalo on all fours, life given,

a romp across Garden State Parkway, National Guard on patrol,

skin made soap, Sandy returned to boardwalk, knocked-out pier lights,

a Frankenstorm link to al-Qaeda?   

Mrs. Dubee’s 6′ under, Coal is Lantern-King, chips down for an only child,

Bozie’s Sun-Dial cut Bible in two,  fait accompli, buffalo nickels not worth shit,

and Ron Casey’s hair is clean, still red.

Charles Orloski lives in Taylor, Pennsylvania. He can be reached at ccdjOrlov@aol.com.                       

Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting)

To submit to Poets’ Basement, send an e-mail to CounterPunch’s poetry editor, Marc Beaudin at counterpunchpoetry@gmail.com with your name, the titles being submitted, and your website url or e-mail address (if you’d like this to appear with your work).  Also indicate whether or not your poems have been previously published and where.  For translations, include poem in original language and documentation of granted reprint/translation rights.  Attach up to 5 poems and a short bio, written in 3rd person, as a single Word Document (.doc or .rtf attachments only; no .docx – use “Save As” to change docx or odt files to “.doc”).  Expect a response within one month (occasionally longer during periods of heavy submissions).

Poems accepted for online publication will be considered for possible inclusion of an upcoming print anthology.

For more details, tips and suggestions, visit CrowVoiceJournal.blogspot.com and check the links on the top right. Thanks!