Three poems by Doug Draime

Three poems
by Doug Draime

Spiders And Madmen

Madmen hold their
greasy fingers
on the buttons,
while pigeons shit and
congregate
in Pershing Square.
As the fly is devoured by the
spider in the corner
of your living room;
its huge web a maze of
fly corpses.
Madmen trade your name
to other madmen.
You are nothing but a series of
numbers to them.
Or a piece of meat
meant for the butcher block.
Madmen think you are
nothing but a body to be
bought, then destroyed in mass
in the middle of a bright
full moon night.
Madmen see you as profit
or loss broadcast on CNN.
They don’t care about your
immortal soul, and curse
you and your descendants behind
armored doors.
While pigeons still shit and
congregate in Pershing Square,
as thousands of fly corpses
fall down from the web in your living room,
blocking your frantic escape.

====================

More Than The Alley

I fought in alleys as a kid,
in the small town alleys
of Vincennes and the city, steel-
sot alleys of
Pittsburgh, for no other reason
than I had to fight. It was something
unavoidable, destined.
By in large I won the
majority of them,
which means nothing. I could have
just as well lost most, and it would not
have mattered
It wasn’t the winning
or the losing, that had nothing
to do with it,
just as words often have nothing
to do with poetry.
It was more than
the battle, the alley,
or the crowds
taking perverse delight
in the blood flying from adolescent faces,
cracked bones and the possibility
of serious injury.
Something, some pure rage inside prodded
me on, and I was always
astonished after
to find myself reasonably intact,
having come through one of the most
dangerous
kinds of human interchange.
There was never a fight
in which I didn’t
shake from a sickening deep gut fear,
my hands trembling like
a dumb unconsecrated nun.
The swallowing of my fear was like
choking down razor blades, but
I would take a deep breath, swallow
and swing hard.

++++++++++++++++++++

The Crazy Pot Smoking Woman Of Barstow

They called her
the ‘crazy woman of
Barstow’ behind
her back and Karen
to her face.
All she ever really wanted to do,
was to get high
in the privacy of
her own double wide,
and someday
get the hell out
of Barstow.
But she mumbled
to herself
in the grocery store line
(foul things, they say),
and had an eye
which twitched
incessantly,
and she would stand
around scratching her
crotch, not giving a damn
who noticed.
So, the crazy woman thing
more or less stuck, until she
married the
Barstow Chief of Police,
who threatened
to shoot the balls (or twats) off
anyone who called her that.
Now, Karen is in a new
double wide, that the cop bought her,
smoking quality pot
from the evidence room
down at
the police station.
The truth be known, the good pot
was the only
thing keeping her
in Barstow ... well, that, and the bad ass cop ...

Author bio:

Doug Draime has been a presence in the 'underground' and small press since the late 1960's. He was part of the notorious L.A. poetry scene of the latter 20th century. Most recent book is "Last May" (Kendra Steiner Editions) and "Spiders And Madmen" (Scintillating Publications). His diverse range of writing, including poems, short stories, and plays continue to appear in publications world wide. He lives in Oregon.

Editor's note: "Spiders And Madmen" was first published in The American Dissident and in Doug's chapbook, "Spiders And Madmen" (Scintillating Publications).

"More ThanThe Alley" first appeared in Blue Mouse, as well as "Spiders And Madmen."