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Amnesia Motel
by Charlie Newman
an album of faded pictures
laying on an empty bed
on one side of a dusty room
nobody rents
even though the rates are god-awful good
I give up
[not that I invested much in this to begin with]
today passes like yesterday
hollow words
empty promises
donuts in a box on the radiator
and an album of faded pictures
remains unopened
[keepsakes left behind]
sepia suits you
delicate lace and silk stockings and
mauve suits with shoulder pads
style is your substance sweetheart
don’t fight it
pungent perfumes remind me of you
heart stopping poses no one else can emulate
[you really set the hook didn’t you?]
so I am in this god-forsaken place
reaching for grasping at a little peace
sidestepping shadows [very fred astaire]
doing nothing I can undo
underneath it all: desire
[somewhere someone I don’t know
takes notes]
underneath the desire: fear
[everyone here knows this is true]
underneath the fear: emptiness
or hunger
like the pictures in the album
evaporating in the summer heat
wrenched from me in absentia
sympathy proves insufficient
regardless: everyone who checks in stays
regardless: some never check in
regardless: everyone ends up here sooner or later
my memory justifies nothing
taking the easy way out
arguments bury evidence
to no advantage
secrets are revealed on cue
no one here escapes
devastation depression devotion
grandiose stories
told over and over in the bar
even though none of us believes them
[so what if nobody cares?]
so what if nobody knows better?
regardless: my album sits on my bed
forgetting nothing remembering all
supposing any of this is real
so what if it’s all just another bad dream?
do you care? [did you ever?]
like love: this is never over
mea culpa sweet thing
reneging on history
gets you nowhere
except here
First published in Poetry Bay
jobbed [1]
by Charlie Newman
I get on the bus
and close my eyes.
“I can’t cut it,” I think.
“I’m just not doing it.”
There seems to be no “instead” for me.
I might as well be mopping floors in a gilded tourist spa in Greece,
or washing dishes in a greasy spoon in Toad Suck Ferry, Arkansas.
“All honest work is noble,” goes the cliché.
But should we be grateful for every indignity
suffered in the name of earning?
Yes,
there is meat on my plate.
I just don’t have the teeth to chew it.
 Charlie Newman was born in Newark, NJ in 1943. He started writing poetry in 1956. He’s had 4 books and 2 CDs released. His 5th book and 3rd CD will be available from FractalEdge Press in Spring, 2005. He’s performed at The U.N. Dialogue Through Poetry; Insomniacathon (2001, 2003, 2004); The New York Underground Music & Poetry Festival; The London International Poetry & Song Festival; ChicagoPoetry.com Poets Against The War; ChicagoPoetry.com Earth Day Event; ChicagoPoetry.com Chicago Poetry Fest (2003 & 2004); and ChicagoPoetry.com Café Cram 1, 2, 3 & 4. He hosts Tuesday night open mics at The Café, 1st Friday poetry shows at DvA Gallery, and The Café Poetry Circus on WZRD-FM. He was named 1 of Top 15 in The Chicago Poetry Scene by Third Coast Press. |
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