3 Poems by
Harry Calhoun
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Send Me Whiskey
Send me whiskey when I'm in jail.
God won't. No sense rewarding
a lifetime of escape. And God
is all about sense, the halo
above our mindless heads.
Make it bourbon, then, the best Southern
sipping whiskey. And while I'm wishing,
get me out of jail. God won't. Alive
until death is the sentence. Bail
is neither subject nor predicate.
I am tossing this to you, this lifeline,
because my God, Friend that He is,
has gone off somewhere, and it's just you
and me and bourbon that keeps
this world spinning. And some people
don't even have bourbon. How's that
for the blues? The world is wobbling
along its lofty small-star orbit. Send me whiskey,
now. God can give us all but surcease.
Someday they'll notice my escape,
and when they rein me in,
the stars will be one brighter
It's Back
I'm crying. I'm flying. She left
but she hasn't killed me yet - I'm writing!
Matthew Sweet deafening
on the headphones.
Something they say about not
killing yourself at rock bottom.
It's on the way back up
that you get the strength.
I'm a rock 'n' roll suicide, then,
kick my ass, go ahead,
call me a coward like she did,
because I write it and don't say it.
God just gave me back
my microphone, and I am inching
up its cord, savoring every instant
since I last, beloved,
talked to you.
Message in a Medicine Cabinet
My ex-wife was quirky.
For some reason she hung,
in my medicine cabinet,
a Christmas tag, suspended
on a gold cord. After years
I idly flipped it over.
In her childlike scrawl was
"with all my love forever and ever."
I still look at it; when I'm feeling cynical.
I remember how short forever was.
When I'm not, which is most of the time,
I remember how good it felt
For someone to feel that for me, once.
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