Poetry: Selections From Gabriel Bates

Wasted

 

I blow pot smoke

into a box fan

and watch it circulate

the room.

 

Sometimes there's not

much else to do. 

 

 

 

The Dealer

 

I show up to his trailer

late at night.

 

Pet the dog,

make small talk,

share a smoke.

 

Then it's down

to business.

 

Afterward,

I end up leaving

with less money

than I came with.

 

But at least

I have a bag of weed

now.

 

Everyone's got

their own vices.

 

 

 

Writer's Block

 

I'm bored, 

uninspired. 

 

The lighter

I'm smoking with

has a picture

of a tyrannosaurus

on it. 

 

He's jumping over

the moon

on a moped.

 

And that's

pretty much it.

 

 

 

Pills

 

I take a gray one,

three orange ones,

and sometimes

a couple yellow ones.

 

All just to make me seem

somewhat normal.

 

But if only you knew

the truth.

 

 

 

Foresight

 

I sat in the back row

of the auditorium.

 

It was a school's

musical performance.

 

I shuffled the program

in my hands

and watched the stage.

 

The kids all sang

high-pitched and innocently,

totally unaware

of what the future might hold.

 

I left the show

with a weird feeling,

like I knew something

they didn't.

 

And maybe I did.

 

 

 

The Long March

 

A bomb goes off somewhere,

a child is cured of illness,

men tear each other's flesh

in a war for the rich and powerful,

two young people fall in love.

 

But here,

not much,

good or bad.

 

It seems like most of life

is just waiting around

for something to happen.

 

 

 

Comparison

 

I watch

a pair

of stray cats

gnaw on

discarded bones

in the cold

and feel glad

to be human

for once.

 

 

 

Throwaway

 

Are there any more

poems to write

or has it all been said

and done before?

 

I don't know.

 

But here's another one,

just in case.

Gabriel Bates is a poet living in Pittsburg, Kansas. His work has appeared in several publications, both online and in print. Visit his website at tinylogger.com/gabrieljbates.