Joan Pond Poetry

Divergence
by Joan Pond

He reads the tracks of my tires
in the snow.
Deciphering the hieroglyphs;
a simple acrostic of lines.
It”s nice to know I”m defined
by the pattern of my tread.
Inside, he said the writing on his wall
holds a pattern,
as stars in the galaxy.
He will make sense of this Babel,
while I stand by the door
wanting to leave.
How can I deceive him into thinking
I have somewhere else to be?
He had been my universe,
but that was long ago
and our orbits
no longer converge.

***

Continually Deadened

As peristalsis,
I had to rid my system.
A molting of skin
from without and within.
I simply had to be free
of him.
The duodenum
the cerebellum,
any sense of his being.
He was an infection
to be purged.

I’m lighter now,
perhaps in the head.
But better
than continually,
deadened.

***

——————————————————————————–

Postcards from the Unemployed
by Joan Pond

I”ve had it with this job,
my last day was the finest of the year.
I said goodbye to the boss
and tossed aside cares and woes.
Oh no,
not enough quarters for the meter.
Who cares?
I”m no longer meting time,
it”s mine for awhile.
I”ll bask in this abyss;
this abeyance.
They do say ignorance is bliss
and so here I shall remain.
Dear Libby,
I”m glad I”m not “˜there”.
Sincerely,
Your former employee.

***

Mock Sun

Trumpet lilies

blare,

bright yellow;

as stamen and pistil

bellow,

from the throats

of xanthic flowers.

Unmuted,

they defy gravity,

along with the light of day.

Their slender stems

with whorls of painted leaves,

point heaven-ward;

in an orchestration

of

mock sun.

***

The Good Old Days
by Joan Pond

The good old days expired
when I sat on the bed
and he said he didn’t love me
as much as I loved him.
Irrecoverable
obsolete,
I was past perfect;
incomplete without him
Once upon a time
I’d found my prince
but he turned me into something
less.
Weighed
and found wanting
I packed beggardly boxes
and left,
not wanting to lose more
than I could
afford.
Good Old Days Copyright © 1998 by Joan Pond, All rights reserved