Poetry: Selections From Frederick Schardt

Plastic Butter
 
We gel in the cooking of oleo
processed butter products
while I get my high
and you get yours
and so Saturday
comes and everyone
is still standing around
lonely and tired of everything
that has happened—meet me in
the square and make love and kisses
to me while we watch the green maples
sway under thin winds that pass through New York.
 
 
 
Family Memorial
 
Ma and Pap are long gone now.
I remember little of them.
 
Ma slept and Pap kicked.
I wish there was more to laugh about.
 
Everyone groaned and hurried
to sleep before the shining
of the moon bore down
on their sad eyes.
 
 
 
 
 
Frederick Schardt is a writer and poet from North Carolina. He studied Comparative Literature and Philosophy at the University of St Andrews in Scotland and now lives in Los Angeles. His work has appeared in Maudlin House, Nelligan Review, and Cathexis Northwest Press.