“This Republic means something. It means something to me. I’ve buried a lot of soldiers, and my dad and mom fought in World War II, relatives that fought in a lot different wars. And this country means something, and Constitution means something. And it’s bigger than us, bigger than any one of us, and we’ve got to protect it. If we don’t protect it, then God help us down the road.” – Gen. Mark A. Milley, USA, November 17, 2021
pigeonspigeons
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.)
waking sitting upwaking sitting up
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.)
“Verily the highest virtue of man is sparing life of others.” – The Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Vol. I, Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva, trans. Pratap Chandra Roy
thisthis
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 managementanger management
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.)
“The path to the Truth always leads through deception and error. The disparity between error and Truth emerges from the very inner fabrication of the representation itself and not from some external condition or obstacle blocking access to the Truth.” – Lenart Kodre, “Psychoanalysis for anthropology: An introduction to Lacanian anthropology”
daisydaisy
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.)
moist heatmoist heat
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.)
“In time of war men must choose one side or the other.” – Christopher Hill, The English Revolution 1640
the time of my lifethe time of my life
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.)
dammeddammed
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.)
“The morality that Puritanism preached was precisely the outlook needed for the accumulation of capital and expansion of capitalism. The emphasis was on thrift, sobriety, hard work in the station to which God had called a man; on unceasing labour in whatever calling, merchant or artisan, one happened to be, but with no extravagant enjoyment of the fruits of labour, and unceasing preoccupation with duty to the detriment of ‘worldly’ pleasure. The wealthy were to accumulate capital, the poor to labour at their tasks – as a divine duty and always under the ‘great Task-master’s’ eye. This belief inspired the bourgeoisie to remodel society in the divinely ordained fashion God’s ‘elect,’ and if that fashion bore a striking resemblance to the capitalist system, they were ever more fervently convinced that they were doing the work of God and that ultimate victory was both predestined and assured.” – Christopher Hill, The English Revolution 1640
cutting backcutting back
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.)
the blessingthe blessing
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.)
“It behoveth thee not to grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.” – The Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Vol. I, Adi Parva, trans. Pratap Chandra Roy
human resources managementhuman resources management
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.)
office memo poemoffice memo poem
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.)
“The journey into history can help us make sense of the barrage of daily news reports, allowing us to react thoughtfully to events and thus shape their outcome.” – Serhii Plokhy, The Gates of Europe
whispering mondaywhispering monday
monday morning elevator ride up to the office
riding with a slender young woman whose long copper hair
looks wet and is parted all awry
she yawns and groans
says, excuse me
i straighten my tie in the elevator’s mirrored wall
the yawning copper-haired woman looks at the elevator’s floor
looks at the elevator’s ceiling
whispers, whisper
the elevator’s bell dings at my stop
the doors slide open, i step out, hearing the elevator doors
slide closed behind me
a whispering noise
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
status reportstatus report
it has been quiet since your last call.
no faxes.
no visitors.
nothing of note in the mail.
still at my desk i sit, still.
the sun slips free of its bank of low clouds,
dropping slowly to its january horizon.
the branches of the grey trees are yellow.
i will go home now.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“It’s not the election that creates a democracy; it’s that peaceful transition of power.” – Lt. Gen. Walter A. Piatt, USA, November 3, 2021
almost timealmost time
it’s almost time for me to go to the office,
to see my smiling, sober, successful boss,
do some work for him and keep him from
knowing that his assistant (me)
is this morning ever so somewhat intoxicated
(stoned) and contemplating how it is my life
has turned out to be not quite the life i wanted
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
skinny junkiesskinny junkies
skinny junkies drag their squalling children
by their wrists through parking lots at discount chains.
rusting junkers’ ancient engines idle in the artificial light.
skinny junkies in hip-hugging pants
entice odd bookish lads who ought to be at home.
tattooed hate boys wearing women-beaters
rule the restless night, scrapping over scraps.
cops cruise whores who cruise for copless corners
where they can stand and give a wave and whistle.
skinny junkies smack their crying brats
and scream unheeded screams.
rusting junkers pull away in cloudy blue-white rumbles.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Using words to lie destroys language. Using words to cover up lies, however subtly, destroys language. Validating incomprehensible drivel with polite reaction also destroys language. This isn’t merely a question of the prestige of the writing art or the credibility of the journalistic trade: it is about the basic survival of the public sphere.” – Masha Gessen, “The Autocrat’s Language”
frightened girlsfrightened girls
frightened girls who want to be loved take whatever they’re given
convincing themselves that lies are true
that being robbed is the same as freely giving
frightened girls who want to be loved are blessings to the vain
cursings to themselves
subject at any time of night or day to random boot and slamming fist
frightened girls who want to be loved
mourning what they’ve taken
mourning all that has been given them
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
homo debitorhomo debitor
god’s covenant expired in the year of our lord the zinc penny,
impaled on the axis running from the berlin of the wannsee conference
to the chicago of the fermic pile
we live now as debtors
owing borrowed time greatly in excess of annual income
the animal smarter than wise,
cursed fat-head with opposable thumbs,
the show-stopping act of the monkey on its own back
better it would be to be the careless sparrow or the scuttering roach,
or the bothersome gnat striving at the window-pane
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“It is important not to equate literature with political protest, otherwise there is a risk of falling into inaction. Yes, the word is already a deed, but it may not be enough. Protest mobilizes people, protest has a very applied and clear pragmatic function, while literature does not have to do all that. Also, literature and its effects are more difficult to predict. Literature offers more room for individual interpretation.” – Daria Serenko, “Fighting Words” (interviewed by Jana Prikryl)
cooldaddycooldaddy
my daddy is
so cool he speaks
german and smokes
pot flirts with girls
half his age drives
at twice the limit
on the wrong
side of the road
eats the candies he
finds on the floor
takes me for
walks in rough
neighborhoods looks
evil in the eye
believes there is
nothing about himself
or his life that
isn’t a waste
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the gorgon aphroditethe gorgon aphrodite
twice in ten days, in neighborhoods five miles
apart, the same woman has approached me
on the streets. frantic, animated, hell-bent
on death, her cheeks ravaged, her breasts high and firm
underneath her nondescript shirts, her entire
being a suppressed scream of junkie and whore,
i paid no attention to the details
of her story. it’s always the same story.
i’ve flirted with enough bad company
to have heard it a time or two before,
though maybe never from a woman whose
breasts appeared so enticing. her waist was
narrow, too, comely and not too narrow,
her hips of good proportion, her butt nicely
rounded. too bad about the rest of her.
the second time she stopped me to pitch her
petition, she showed no sign of remembering
the first time. i didn’t choose to remind her,
but i gave her five dollars for whatever
it was she needed. she asked me my name.
i told her we’re all the same. and we are,
but we are not. she insisted on shaking
my hand. i didn’t tell her the most
important thing she could do would be to
die. i shook her hand, then washed my
hands as soon as i could.