THE HOME: Selected Poems

by
D.B. Cox

LEAVING

the man
from the home
called to say
he’s on the way

dressed
in my best clothes
i can’t sprawl
on the bed
so i balance
on a beat-up
suitcase
& stare through
the dirty window

next door
white sheets
flap on the line
unconditional surrender
to the summer heat

there’s a record
spinning
on the turntable
needle trapped
in the black gap
where the song
ends scratching
waves in space —
at first close
now moving
further & further
apart

a small spider
crawls
along the sill —
tomorrow
it will still
be here

© D.B. Cox

---

BOYS OF THE HOME

time passes —
a breeze grazing
the tops
of un-barbered heads
no longer able
to believe in humans
not knowing how
to believe in gods

sincere christians
cut along dotted lines
the more they shape
the more unfinished
we become —
indefinite forms
without borders

we work
we play
we stay busy
to forget —

we no longer question
or expect
we have learned
that silence
is a response

at night we lie
in army-surplus beds
& sing softly
to ourselves
lullabies
composed of resignation

© D.B. Cox

---

THE PIANO

there’s a piano
in a room downstairs
that nobody plays
some days
i slip in
lay my head
on the keyboard
& strike the lowest note

i listen
to see how long
it will ring
one-tone music
rises
to fit the scene
painted
by tiny brain fingers —

a white house
in an open space
a place
with wide windows
that are easy
to see through

clear panes
that hide no secrets

an unlocked door
that opens
onto a well-lit street
that leads toward home

© D.B. Cox

---

JUST SHORT OF MEXICO

gang of boys
at the railroad crossing
staring
at a freight train
stopped cold
wide-open boxcar
straddling the road
like an invitation —
‘witch’ costello,
world’s hippest 12-year old
says “who’s got the balls
to go to mexico?”

he jumps in
i follow
train starts to roll
it’s just me & him
me & tim
two fugitives
standing in the door
of the world
no expectations
of the discoveries
we’re about to make —

crying out
as we race over rails
flailing at the air
as it pours through
the open door
steel wheels screech
clatter
through light & shadow
eternity unwinds
for two hours…

all the way
to Augusta, G-A
where we wait
in custody
at the station
as ‘witch’ coolly asks a cop
in a yellow raincoat
if he can bum a smoke

© D.B. Cox

---

THE TEAM

tumbles
from the bus
same uniforms
as last year
rusty relics
from olden days
golden leather
helmets
no straps
for the chin
a shoeless mob
until the game
begins —

then it’s
off-tackle right
off-tackle left
fullback sweep
around right end
no need
for tricks
no goddamn
flea-flickers
or double reverse
no last gasp
pass plays
praying
for a tie

hell,
we don’t even
need a huddle
to stomp
a puddle into
the asses
of Matthews School
& walk it dry

when CMCH
gets off the bus
nobody ever
says hello —
when we climb
back on
everybody
says goodbye

© D.B. Cox

---

THE FARM

through fields
of summer
burnt boys
walk
red dirt
turned
inside out
down
endless rows
clods breaking
under
bare toes
all day
bent low
broken
scarecrows
stiff fingers
picking okra
picking beans
picking worms
from collard greens
cicadas drone
work songs
each one
the same
sweat-streaked
faces glance
toward
unrelenting
white skies
flying wasted
prayers
for rain
that bounce
off heaven’s
jammed doors

© D.B. Cox

---

MY GRANDFATHER DROVE A HUDSON

on sunday mornings
at the home
we’d all line up & march
over to the church
the preacher would spend
a lot of time
talking about
how much jesus
loved the little children
there was this song
we’d sing —

“jesus loves me
this I know
for the bible
tells me so…”

sunday was also
‘visitors day’
& sometimes
my grandfather
would drive down
in his hudson
take me off campus
for a ride —
i used to sit
in the front seat
listen to the radio
& admire that old fedora
he always wore

i wondered why
there were no songs
about my grandfather

i wondered
what kind of car
jesus drove

© D.B. Cox

---

MOTHER DEAR

i’m not asking
you
to take the blame
or explain
those voices
in your brain
drip drip
dripping
like a broken
faucet
louder & louder
until you ran
for the door
like the house
was on fire

i just wanted
to know —
were you able
to turn yourself
inside out
be brand new
still beautiful
& twenty-two
i can’t recall
your face anymore
no photo smiles
frozen in place
your voice
gray
like something gone

mother dear
your fear
back then
was no different
than mine
& i know
that before this
there was a time
before that —
& that’s what
i must remember

© D.B. Cox

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