Poems by Jay Passer

THE RALLY

took one to the chops

in the fracas

before the Molotov launch

and patent tear gas.

helicopters coming,

EMTs alerted,

news vans hustling.

while those in power 

just smile and smirk,

smorgasbord catered

in furtive bunkers-

minding other people's 

business was never so 

lucrative.

snakes in the garden;

lollipops at the dentist's.

I shoulda stayed home, 

listened to the game.

COCKTAILS AT THE DEJA VU

up in the balcony at the Deja Vu

decked in a black polka dot dress, she was reading my palm

while outside in the neighborhood

dogs snapped and howled and downtown the trains and trucks 

stalled and blasted their horns and

I tried to staunch the sweat, but could feel it coming up through

my pores like that time in the

basement of the art gallery when the curator put a Polaroid-sized 

Rembrandt etching in my hand,

since back in those days I'm a badass with clout and doors slide

open for me everywhere, even

for the viewing room at the mortuary, where I bury my swami

after that unfortunate incident

at the mosque or was it the temple, the shrine or the shul?

or up the stairs past the balustrade 

to the balcony at the Deja Vu where she's reading my fortune,

her cute freckled pixie face

shining on mine as the shots ring out: rat-a-tat-tat! a-tat-tat!

I KNEW IT WAS

used to be a paper the sports section or

the funny pages later in the paper,

and the napkin scribbles as lips quivered,

as the headlines outlined bodies-

like the saucer for the cream or the coffee,

circular pressings on the vinyl tabletop;

hungover, or like in the Velvet

Underground's song, breakfast at night?

that's when I knew it was too late for us.