Category: Poems
the last of the gods
lonely bastard
not content to create one batch of stalwarts prostrate in fear and hunger and worship
he created two more
an unholy trinity of religions to fight for ages over which of them is daddy’s favorite
and now he’s dying
but being a god he’s taking his sweet time about it
and taking as many as he can of his misbegotten children along with him
into the hell of his own creation
this could go on for centuries
he’s already on life support
his children await a new prometheus to come and pull the plug
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
headline in this morning’s paper—firefight erupts in fallujah
as though a firefight were some phenomenon such as a thunderstorm
or a volcano or an earthquake or a plague
some terrifying disease
which is true
true also that headline writers
are constrained by the amount of space they must fill on a page
and the amount of time they can spend on filling it
firefight erupts in fallujah
not enough space on the page to write something more expansive or poetic
something along the lines of my god my god what have we done?
something overwrought like that to match the situation
a firefight erupts in fallujah
and there is only so much space available and the font has to be a certain size
however the headline ends up reading it must fit into the same space
pride goeth before a fall is a little too short
though it could be said to fit the facts
the headline just as well could have been
terrifying sickness persists
that one both fits the facts and the allotted space
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
we’re not going to do a briefcase-by-briefcase check.
we’re going to [ redacted ].
we may [ redacted ] the [ redacted ], put [ redacted ] the [ redacted ].
we don’t want to hurt business.
our [redacted] is vulnerable.
all [ redacted ]—six or seven every [redacted]—[ redacted ] the [redacted].
we’ll put an extra guard [ redacted ], change procedures.
[redacted] sets of eyes—[ redacted ] present at all times in [redacted].
have someone in your [ redacted ] at all times.
or [ redacted ].
[ redacted ] probably a soft target.
it would be kudos to bad guys [ redacted ].
major concern is [redacted].
and [ redacted ].
we don’t have [ redacted ] the [redacted].
the [redacted]—[ redacted ] a [ redacted ] the [redacted].
any determined person could [ redacted ].
[redacted] are potential targets.
we’ve activated our emergency plan.
we’re keeping our eyes open and [ redacted ].
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
up in the third third of the night, unable to return to sleep,
in my flannel robe i sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the television,
watching the latest war news—urban fighting and point-blank fire,
bunker-buster bombs and thousands of empty combat boots, firefights filmed
in unearthly green light, dead and wounded in uncounted numbers, palaces littered
with shattered marble and broken glass, rubble and fire and ceaseless black smoke
—all interspersed with ads for situation comedies, sleek and shiny high-powered cars,
and medicines that should do the trick (though there may be unfortunate side-effects).
i am advised to consult with my doctor, take out a low-interest loan, and stay tuned.
(Published in Folly, April 2010; copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the candy-bar wrapper says
i’m having a contest
you could win a truckload of money
buy me and open me up and see
so i do
the candy-bar wrapper says
sorry, you are not a winner
sorry, try again
sorry, this will rot your insides out
sorry, your tire just went flat
sorry, your last four checks bounced
sorry, your cat ran away
sorry, your dog was last seen chasing your cat
sorry, your wife was last seen chasing some dog
sorry, the candy-bar wrapper says
thanks for playing
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i see pencilled in on the calendar
that this morning i am to visit the jail
and deliver an order of the court
to my client held there. fuck. what
should i tell her? the truth? fuck that.
here’s the truth: she doesn’t have
a snowball’s chance in hell of being
released on any kind of bond. she’s
going to be held by the feds until they
try her sometime next year, then she’s
going to be found guilty and sentenced
to five years in federal lock-up, after
which sentence she’ll be deported back
to her home country, the muslim nation
where she’s a christian decidedly in
the minority, where she’ll be harassed
until one night a mob will come to her
home and rape her and kill her and
mutilate her corpse. can’t tell her that.
got to put on a happy face and tell her
everything will be all right, that we’ll
get her out soon. i think i’ll go in
early and get a breakfast burrito. didn’t
get a chance to have much of a supper
last night. some food right now might
improve my mood. then i can tell
my client anything i damn well please,
so long as i don’t tell her the truth.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
an acquired fear of roaring skies
moved me to my knees before
the sun-room window
fighter-jets climbing from the local air force base
one-by-one climbing straight up
rolling on their axes
flashing their wings in sunrise sunlight
flashing and rolling and climbing as though
they were living things themselves
roaring into autumn morning
screaming into life
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i got a phone call today from the newest inmate
a street-sweeping girl who’s managed to fuck her way to the bottom
now she’s in the county jail
doing light time in a heavy place
she’s kicking
kicking the heavy doors
kicking the concrete walls
kicking the h—
kicking the m—
wants to kick some a—
but she’s on the target end of this kicking line
no rockette she
no high-shooting flyer
just a low-flying shooter
just a girl in the can who can’t again until her kick-out date
and i tell her, nicole,
you gotta stay outta that place
i know
she says
i know
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
there’s this truck
it’s the dead-baby truck
it’s being driven around downtown
it’s as big as a moving van
its license plates are out-of-state
its driver is this old guy
he wears flannel shirts and a feed cap
his jaw is set pretty hard
his dead-baby truck has these pictures
huge photographic blow-ups on its sides
they’re as big as the sides of a moving van
they’re pictures of dead babies
itty-bitty babies next to coins
tiny babies posed in fresh red stuff
the red stuff looks like blood
it may be blood
the dead babies are posed so that their hands
their little dead and bloody hands
are clutching at the coins
quarters and dimes
who knew quarters and dimes are so big
who knew a photographer could get dead babies
could get them to hold on to coins
the old guy in the flannel shirt
and the billed cap on his head
and the grim expression on his face
he drives the dead-baby truck around downtown
he drives it up and down all the downtown streets
he drives it past all the office workers who are going to eat their lunches
he doesn’t honk his horn or try to call attention to himself
but it’s a big truck
big as a moving van
and it has these big pictures on its sides
of bloody dead babies clutching at coins
it has a phone number too
and a website address
a car follows right behind the dead-baby truck
it’s a white sedan that looks like a police car
it has a black spotlight
extra radio aerials
some letters and numbers painted on its trunk
a prisoners’ cage in the back seat
a red-white-and-blue license plate
it follows right behind the dead-baby truck
it goes when the truck goes
turns when the truck turns
stops when the truck stops
a guy in sunglasses drives it
office workers go to lunch
the dead-baby truck goes by
the white sedan goes by
some of the office workers look
most don’t
they are hungry
lunch is never long enough
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
do this for me:
get my paycheck from the attorney
bring it by the jail
at the jail you can pick up the paper so you can cash the check
go cash the check then pay the cable television bill
give the rest of the money to billy from the restaurant
he can pay the credit cards
if i have to i’ll sell my car and we can pay the rest of the bills with that
the attorney will have to wait
his bill’s too fucking big anyway
and i’m still sitting here in jail
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the bus stop is missing its benches and trash cans
scars remain on the sidewalks
women talking on cell phones
crossing against the lights
trot across the plastic faux-brick sidewalks
fat men in knit shirts lumber slowly along
their mouths hanging open
traffic slows to a stop
young women wear tight clothes
their buttons straining
we are the children of soldiers
our breath is labored
our sky is gray
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my name’s the quarter-a-day habit
and i’m not much fun to live with
i don’t pick up after myself
do the dishes
empty the trash
clean the house
or put the clothes away
or make the bed
clean the toilet
wash the car
or rake the yard
it should go without saying
but in case it doesn’t
i don’t do windows
i’m a lazy little bitch
really bad with money
and a terrible waster of time
but i’m a great fuck
if you’re into my kind of fuck
which you will be if we do
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
everybody in the city is talking about the weather
the dusty sky
how the entire city smells of housecat
how no rain has rained in weeks and weeks
no rain to settle the dust
wash away the sprayings
everybody in the city is talking about the forests
how if it doesn’t rain soon the woods will surely burn
nobody in the city is talking about the war
(Published in 580 Split, Issue 12, 2010; copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
some say it’s no fun being a junkie but
it does give one a certain raison d’etre
a reason for getting up in the morning
or the evening or the afternoon or whenever one
happens to be getting up in the middle of the night
the hours to be up and at ‘em
up and at the walls
scratching and pounding
up and at the doors
kicking them open
kicking them closed
up and at the windows
staring through a ghostly reflected face
up and at the telephone
calling the special friend
i’m sorry i woke you but please can i come over right now please
some say the nicest thing about being a junkie
is everything is crystal-clear
all superfluities sloughed off
all distractions burned away in the cold heat of need
it leaves a body terrifically focused
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
it seems i spend all my
time working and cleaning house
when i’m not staring out the window at
the trees dancing on a thunderstorm wind while
taking a hit from what may be
my fourth or fifth joint of the day
it’s easy to lose track at four or five
i mean
it’s not the dancing trees that take the hit
that is
i’m sure i work
the trees are dancing
i’m taking hits
that’s a window
and there’s cleaning to be done
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i am having the most
incredible high right now
i know the validity
of any statement made
while the maker is in such a state
is suspect
but i’ve been getting some intense
rushes
off this little roachy remainder
of a joint of roach-doap—
oops—
doaped-on-a-roap
giggle me timbers
i’ll have another hit
(Published in High Street: Lawyers, Guns & Money in a Stoner’s New Mexico (2012, Outpost 19); copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i was walking by the candy store
when i tripped and stumbled over myself
fell into a sticky-bud bush
lay there for about a week, stuck
it was hard to get up when i had only one free hand
the other gripped by gripping a loaded roachclip
a delightful dark light
an accursed, cursing, curvaceous bitch
my sweet lover, the loaded roachclip
stuck to the bush, flat on my back
i suck on the loaded roachclip, my lollipop
(Published in High Street: Lawyers, Guns & Money in a Stoner’s New Mexico (2012, Outpost 19); copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
when paul the attorney sees me in the hallway,
he says, i’m looking for justice. i tell him
there’s been a misunderstanding, that we no longer
speak that language here, that justice has left
the building, saying she’s not coming back
until we come to our collective senses, drive
the money-changers from the temple, burn
the temple to the ground, grind the rubble to a fine
gray ash, sprinkle the ash on our heads
while we wail and mourn and rend our fashionable
clothing, fall on our faces and weep into the dirt,
and promise her we will learn to speak her
language again. paul smiles at me as if i’ve lost my mind.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
a tall and heavyset man feeds pigeons
in the asphalt parking lot across
the street from a church downtown. he’s old but
not decrepit. he sticks his thumb out at
a passing cyclist, as if to hitch
a ride. a few blocks away, an inmate
on the outs crosses a street against
the light. a waiting motorist guns his
engine. the motorist wears a white shirt
and a red necktie. a crystal given
him by an ex-girlfriend hangs from his
rear-view mirror. the inmate makes a
gesture, says, what’re you gonna do bitch,
run me over? the motorist instantly
knows several truths he’s never wanted
to know. he knows them several times
over. the cyclist cycles past him where
he sits in his car, still at the light.
horns honk. pigeons fly, well-fed. he hit one
with his car once, a long time ago.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
oh look
i rolled me a joint last night before i “fell asleep” here in my chair
how sweet of me to think of me like that
what a wonderful way to start my day
i am so nice to me sometimes
it makes me want to cry
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
this a blank document an image
this as simple as a single color
this which stays in the eye behind the eye
this a girl on her back on a bed
this her father’s or her mother’s white-sheeted bed
this her eyes an unknown color
this her age perhaps seven summers
this she is not alone but all the same
this her mouth twisting open a cry
this crying pain and worse the light
this her head turned to one side
this her arms twisting to cover her eyes
this his legs and that portion of himself
this the cover your eyes so daddy can take
this the image of the trapped girl-child
this her eyes an unknown color
this they are closed tightly closed tightly
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
anger
management
anger
management
as i f*ck my hands harder than i have f*cked any woman in quite a long time
i am engaging in
anger
management
with the corners of my mouth turned down
my breath harsh-exhaled from between my stained and rotting teeth
spittle running down my chin and i stink
from the rancid lotion
from the unshowered underarms
from the sh*t-flecked anus
and i am forty-five years old and i am nothing
but i will not be nothing
i will not surrender
i will die and be reborn
i will kill myself and give myself life as only a god may do
watch this space
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
daisy lives at the county jail
she wears faded blue coveralls with the name of the jail
in faded yellow stencil on the back
she sleeps on a mattress on the floor in the day room under
the television set with screwy colors and the sound
that’s broke and makes no sound
daisy wakes
the jailhouse guardman says
good morning, daisy
about time you woke up, sleeping beauty
daisy has short brown hair that frames her freckled face
her nose is thin and shiny
her green eyes have a distance in them
a receding depth leading inward to a place neither she
nor anyone else can reach
the jailhouse guardman tells me
medical’s been up here ten times this week for seizure calls on her
she fakes a lot of seizures
they figure only two of them were real
i wonder how they know
daisy smiles
stands up
looks around
says something to no one
sits down and covers her eyes with her hands
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the
no-no
man
lives
inside
me
he
tries
to
get
out
through
my
mouth
he
whispers
his
no!
no!
out
through
my
mouth
he
hears
me
thinking
sees
what
i
see
feels
what
my
fingers
feel
i
bite
off
the
tips
of
my
fingers
biting
off
the
tips
one
by
one
to
swallow
one
by
one
my fingertips and choke unto silence the no-no man
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
twenty-four hours a day
seven days a week
four weeks a month
every month of every year
year
after year
after year
pick a random moment
you will find me
staring out the window
coming down again
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
as a paralegal, there are things i
cannot say. i must be circumspect,
deferential, polite. this is unfortunate.
these days, there is a shortage of truth-telling
in this world. my guess is there is no
shortage of truth itself; probably as
much of that as there has ever been.
a lot of it is dammed-up, though, high up
in the mountains, in cold, clear pools, limpid
if somewhat acrid—
oh, hell. pools of truth,
indeed. here’s a muddy puddle: as a
paralegal, i cannot safely tell
my boss the lawyer not to interrupt
me while i write a poem. he pays me
to pay attention (and answer telephones,
fetch the mail, and so forth). he also pays
my health insurance premiums, which are
steep. and he pays me not to tell the truth
without permission, if even then.
a fellow telephoned the office this
morning, asked to speak to my boss. that is
not possible, i told the fellow.
i told him i was the only one
available. the connection sounded
as though he were calling from outdoors.
i could hear street noise in the background;
loud voices. he quickly got to his point:
i want to know if i can sue a
restaurant for discrimination
because they wouldn’t serve me a glass
of water for free. succinct, my caller.
there were at least two possible answers
i could provide; one was better for him,
the other was better for me. the answer
better for him was, this is america,
you can sue whoever you like, just don’t
expect to win. and don’t be such a fool–
a restaurant is a business.
you want a free glass of water, go home
and ask your mama. the answer better
for me was the one i gave, or started
to: i’m sorry, but– he hung up right
after i’m sorry. and i am. i can
truthfully, politely, and with great
circumspection say that i am. it
was never my intention to earn
my living maintaining a dam.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
now that my son is gone i can cut back on a few things. no need
to keep all these lights on. i can turn the heat down, too, wrap
myself in blankets, i have extras from his bed. his comforter, i can
wrap myself in that. it smells of him, no need to launder it.
the television and the stereo, i can keep them turned off. no need
for music, that was all for him, anyway, for his education
and enlightenment. the television with its comedies and dramas,
that was just to help us take the pressure off.
no need for all of that. no need for eating out at restaurants,
for going to shows, or museums. no need for deep-fried chicken,
for fresh vegetables and fruits. i can eat canned goods now, cut
back that way, put on a sweater, turn out all these lights.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
Hast thou but one blessing, my father? bless me, even me also.
Genesis 27:38
you stand in a river of time that moves so slowly you think it stands still.
i stand downstream, nearer to the falls,
where i cling to a framework built from dead branches snatched from the stream,
lashed together with scraps of plastic fished from currents—
i can’t stand without it.
you stand with no such crutch—tall and beautiful you stand,
and i damn you for it, staking my claim against your life
before it has carried you down this river, to this place where i drag my paralyzed feet
behind my twisted body, thrashing with palsied hand at robber-flies in this place
where, by the time you arrive, i will be gone and to nothingness damned.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i got laid off weeks ago and never
dreamed it would be this difficult to find
a new job. the lights are low and the house
is cold. an unfamiliar rumbling
is coming from my stomach.
my résumé lies on its sans-serif
surface. is this all there is? the question
in the faces of human resources
managers who read my thinly-written
claims to general expertise, shabby
as ostrich plumes eaten away by
avian lice, revealing the flabby
body of an inexpensive fan-dancer
with a cellulite problem, who prances
onstage amid catcalls and dreams.
who pretends not to notice. who takes an
overripe tomato smack in the forehead,
but never loses her poise or her shit-eating
grin, and almost never misses a step.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
boss,
here are the procedures for recording your voice onto your computer and copying the file to a compact disk.
- make sure the mike is plugged in.
- open system preferences.
- open sound, which is in hardware.
- open the input window.
and do something with it which i could figure out how to do except you just interrupted me to talk about the hundreds of hours of your home movies you want me to edit and then you want me to do your taxes because your wife used to do them but you haven’t got a wife anymore and hey boss neither do i but you said maybe you can get her to come in and train me
i’m sure she would be thrilled i know i would i have a weakness for other men’s ex-wives
and then there are the authority files you want me to scan
and now you are walking out the door to get a haircut telling me you’ll be in touch while i sit here pretending i’m working
which is what i usually do
and usually it works
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)