Poetry: Selections from Matthew McGuirk

There’s Always You

A conversation is all it was,

just letting you know I see this

and we might want to watch it as you age.

You know there’s a history there,

a history of ups and downs,

a history of hairline cracks just waiting for one to divide

and form a fissure all can see,

a history of more needs than wants,

a fixation on something(s)--iron grip(s) that won’t let go.

 

It was always you though,

looking back that’s a constant;

all of the other things just swing in and out

like that friend who needs a couch,

bad news is all they are,

but there’s always been you.

 

Will I always be enough?

Will I always be the greatest fixation,

the greatest addition,

enough to fill your veins

and leave you full?

She paused and

then she asked the question that

neither of us wanted to hear,

what happens to you if I disappear?  

Oil stains like Rorschachs

My life is a shop:

oil stains like Rorschachs

black against hard pavement,

twisted bumpers that used to shine,

a whole bunch of tinks and clanks

that somehow still make sense,

and always hoping to come out better

after each ding or bump

but knowing it’s all going to catch up

at some point.

Riddles of a Young Life

What’s both new and old,

fun and boring,

and takes up half the day?

 

How many ears does it take to feel at home?

How many words does it take to feel present?

How many friends does it take to feel wanted?

 

How does a smile hide memories?

How many words equal a mile? 10 miles? 100 miles?

When is 1 greater than many?

 

What has a large mouth,

two faces

and no soul?

 

What do I’m heading home,

headlights

and a headstone

have in common?

Matthew McGuirk teaches and laughs at his puns by day and scribbles somewhat coherent words night. He lives with his family in New Hampshire. He is also a BOTN 2021 nominee with words in Bear Creek Gazette, Daily Drunk Magazine, Outcast Press, Purple Wall Stories, Sledgehammer Lit, Versification and others.