Back in the Day
by PAUL LOJESKI
Back in the day
I smoked Pall Malls,
unfiltered in the cool
red package, when
you could still smoke
anywhere: on
planes, in offices,
in supermarkets,
even in hospitals.
Which I was doing
that time of my father’s
dying in the cancer
hospital, in that bleak
world of last breaths
and deadly waiting
rooms. I lit one
and inhaled deeply,
sucking in the heat,
the poison, the high
I thought was real
as the organ player
out in the hall began
working the keys
and some cheerfully
annoying tune floated
into the sadness
and suffering, a music
so insultingly wrong
and out of place I felt
like going out there
and busting the thing
up, when he said,
You smoke too much.
I looked over at him,
my father, hooked
up to iv’s and machines,
his yellow skin a pasty
glow in the bright
fluorescent light,
staring straight up
at the ceiling, rigid,
his hands in fists,
looking like he was
trying to hold on
to something.
I said, You’re right.
But I kept on puffing
and puffing, trying
to hold on, too.
Newtown
by PAUL LOJESKI
And the fields
were laid bare;
that ample,
golden harvest
burning
in moonlight,
blades
of bright flames
scorching
a white sky.
Witnesses
broken by
an inexplicable
cruelty
and madness
huddled
in those
invisible
shadows,
crying out
in the gathering
storm
Night Flight
by PAUL LOJESKI
In dream in a battered subway
packed with the beaten
and insane, rattling along
under a burning city like
a refugee train in the Great
War, I was alone and lost.
I wanted a certain destination,
I was sure, but I’d forgotten its name
as the train screamed down
the tracks, roaring past
stations, never stopping until there
were no more platforms,
just the dark, glistening walls
of that dead stone. Months passed
into years and I grew razor thin
and twisted and my clothes turned
to tatters and I no longer spoke
but grunted guttural sounds
like the others slumped about
on hard benches in that seething
blindness. And the train sped
on and on through the black,
black tunnel. And I didn’t care
where it was going. I didn’t care.
Paul Lojeski’s poetry has appeared in journals and online, including at Counterpunch. He’s also the author of the satiric novel, The Reverend Jimmy Pup. He lives with his wife and daughter in Port Jefferson, NY.
Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting)
Poets Basement is now on Facebook. Find us as http://www.facebook.com/poets.basement.
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 two months (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 http://crowvoice.com/poets-basement. Thanks!