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Robert J Meyer

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There is this...

When she was five
I was her daddy -
Maker of wonders,
Wielder of power,
Protector and keeper.

When she was twelve
I was dad -
Homework helper
Tear dryer
Night guard.

Now that she's grown
I'm father -
He,
Left
Out.

[...] Read more

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On Reading Graham Greene's 'The Quiet American

Pyle and Fowler
So civilized
Fighting over Phoung
And Vietnam
So quietly

Pyle offers her his world
White picket fence
Baseball games and picnics
He'd hide the grime and mayhem
He used to win her

Fowler is honest in his need
Naked loneliness is all he has
No wedding ring
No London Bridge nor Westminster
Just his ache and desire

Phoung was one taxi dance
From whoring more openly

[...] Read more

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December, Mid-Day

On this day that has lost its mindfulness
Of blossom and aromatic fecundity
Of casual life, splurging its vitality
On birdsong and squirrelish chatter,
I am waiting for a break in the clouds.

This day has long since lost
A fresh blanket of snow to the
Skirlling tires and plodding pedestrians
Huddled in down and Dacron
As they battle the Chicago chill.

The streets resemble the bottom
Of a Pickwickian gruel bowl, grey
And slimy - none to appetizing -
Warmth drained (though every mouth
Smokes out exhausted air) .

I am left staring at the sky,
Hoping the ubiquitous dinge

[...] Read more

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