Two Poems

Almost Anachronism

I.
When you wish to define something
as something it is not
something other than what it really is
you might say
Boy, that sure is something else!
But sometimes
things are what they are
and boy, oh boy
this sure is a bed to be shared
but no bedmate, bad time
would dare lay down atop so heavy—
so this is not! Shush
be still awhile, she says as she lays
down her full deadweight and
the pillow upon my head.

II.
Remember, when you wish
to define something
as something it is not
something, even say
such as an alarm clock
which plays such a small, seemingly insignificant
part in our day, but
again and again is a source of small surprise
and somehow always unknown, again
and again even if it’s at the same
this time.

III.
When you wish to define something
as something it is not
you should first come to know this:
cancer does not make you beautifully bald-headed
but a thousand different, splitting hairs—
a home wholly new, without—
you, the rearranged, arranged in a new order
a non-home-surreal and so because cancer can
a disturbing significance take on, in you this becomes art.
Surrealism.

IV.
Remember, when you wish
to define something
as something it is not
unknowingly you will undoubtedly, assuredly end up
definitely describing the thing for exactly
what it is.
Which is not Hofstadter’s Law. No
not at all, idiot.
but it is taking longer.
Surprise!

V.
When you wish to define something
as something it is not
something other than what it really is
you might say We might be the last! But
only if you are talking about an entire generation.
But sometimes things are not what they are—
and this is not again a poem about my Uncle Tim dying
or grandparents gone.
This is all about our children.

VI.
We might be
the anachronism
the out of place
untimely, the last
generation that wakes up to die of cancer.

Specific Pong