The Poem for the month of May is "Deep Into the Night"  

    Deep into the Night

 

 

Years ago when I was small,
My father, every other night or so,
Thinking everyone asleep
Would sneak out of the house
And climb into his motorboat,
A leaky wreck that wreaked of oil;
He’d rip the cord and run full bore,
Drive it deep into the night.

He’d push that boat beyond its limit,
Running rampant on the sea,
Looking for a storm,
Longing for the chaos in it:
Tornados on the waves,
Thrashing water twisters.

He’d head straight toward the breakers,
Lightning popping all around,

Inspired by the thunder,

Blinded by the rain,

Spat upon by angry waves,

Shoved aside by the vulgar swells;

He’d ride as far as he could go,

Hardly able to steer that boat,

Just about to fall apart
But he simply didn’t care:

Bottle in hand, he’d tip it back,
Drink it in, shriek and moan

Like a man gone mad,
Feeling what he needed to feel,
Barely coming home alive.

 

        *

Years ago when I was small,
My mother, every other night or so,
Thinking everyone asleep
Would fill herself with Tanqueray
And sneak out of the house,
Walk up to the highway,
Slip between the speeding cars
And walk the double yellow,
Heel to toe, unsteady along the center line.

A thousand drivers, unsuspecting,
Sped toward her on either side;
They’d pass within a breath of her:
Bottle in her left hand,
Leopard handbag in her right;
Drivers doing 80
Veered over if they saw her
And miss her by an inch;
Honking horns and epithets:
If she heard, she couldn’t care less,
Feeling what she needed to feel,
High wire act on solid ground,
Suborning death with ambivalence,
Always lucky to get arrested;
Sometimes the cops would bring her home.

 

        *

They are long gone, those two:
They have left me to myself
And I miss them terribly,
As terrible as that may sound,
Which is why, at times,
When I can’t sleep
(Every other night or so),
I turn on the light
And sit at my desk,
Place sheets of paper
In front of me,
Lift my pen and write,
Compelled by rabid need

And longing without end:
Countless poems, countless lines,

Countless pages in a pile,
Countless hours as the hours add up,

Deep into the night.