the wax people
Lester J. Allen, August 2009
to find pause
just long enough
in this whittled down
existence
so that the fridge may be heard
belting out some lost rock opera that
the spiders can
tap in their webs and upon
my brain
this has been the way,
the secret
not so heavily guarded
like the Queen’s men and
their insatiable thirst for young
flesh or
this country eroding
from center
I wait for something to dust the dust
from the damp corners of my mind
a sweet voice that
I’d do best
to forget
for be it the gentlemanly thing
to do
while passing time waiting upon
an old sickness
like worms for rain
while the sun hides it’s jealousy with
a proper poker face and
the wax people grow old but
do not age while wishing for hearts
and brains and hernias
a sweet salty flesh to caress or
curtain the thought
of bone,
a lasting credibility and yet,
still some time to play
while planes go up & down
& buildings
& moods & lives
and those of us still here to write
about it, complain about it
and generally suffer from it
are left wishing
inevitably
for the same
Lester J. Allen is a poet and publisher living in upstate New York. He has a few self-published collections floating around called “The Days Carnivore” and “A Cockroach in the Penthouse.” He appears in the anthology “The Beards” published by Tainted Coffee Press and has an upcoming collection called “The Sidewalk Girls” to be published by Covert Press. He publishes manuscripts of up and coming writers at Bird War Press (www.birdwarpress.blogspot.com) and you can keep up with his adventures at his Myspace page (www.myspace.com/mad_cap).
