WAYNE F. BURKE - POEMS

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of publications, online and in print. His three published poetry collections, all with Bareback Press (barebackpress.com), are WORDS THAT BURN (2013), DICKHEAD (2015), and KNUCKLE SANDWICHES (2016). He lives in the central Vermont area.

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                                       Kamikaze
 
I stood at the crest of the hill
and screamed at
Tumbleweed Larson
face-down on his Kamikaze Speed Racer
Sled
but he did not hear
and disappeared
under the car
and the car's right rear tire
went up then down
and I ran
to the roadside
where Tumbleweed lay
eyes shut
face Q-ball white
a trickle of blood from
his mouth
call an ambulance
someone said
call the cops
call a priest
“I never even seen him,”
the driver said
as snow fell thick as
a fleece;
a door of a house slammed-to
like a gun shot
“oh his poor mother!”
dusk closed in
the streetlight dully gleamed
like an eye
the mother trudged as if
on skates
bare head and shawl
she shouted to her son
who did not answer
only an ambulance
in the distance
cried.
 
 
 
                                        Host
 
an ocean of clouds
above
and nickel-sized sun,
and on my tongue
a host
that I try not to bite
because it would be the same
as biting the body of
Christ
stuck to the roof
of my mouth
like plaster of Paris
I do not dare touch
its a sin
and so
wait
uncomfortable
trying not to panic
as the thing
slowly wilts
and the soggy body
goes down my
throat
like a boat over the
falls.
 
 
 
                                                                     Hell
 
woke, 6 A.M.
and feeling as if
I was in Hell
and got up
out of bed
and looked out the
window
everything was blue
I sat in my chair
and prayed to
whom-
ever
and fell back asleep
and now
it is the afternoon
and I am still
not right
in the head.
 
  
                                               Disgust
 
we shoveled the snow off the old lime kiln
road
which iced-over
and we rode our sleds
sixty miles an hour
down
and out into a street
where we took our chances
with cars
and one day
between the time it took me to hike
from bottom of the road
to top
a snow plow had come
and gone
and left a snow drift
that I hit
and went air-born
like a ski jumper
and I landed
on my sled
but my head out beyond the
steering bar
and I broke my front teeth
off
on the road
and got up
and ran home
each icy stinging breath
and burst into the warm steamy
kitchen and
cried: “I broke my teeth!”
and my grandmother turned to me
concernedly
but my sister gave me a look
of disgust
which
I hated her for.