5 Poems by Jeff Bagato

Swimmers on 20th Street

Swimmers on 20th
weave thru traffic with long strokes,
kicking up foam & high,
lone
spire, wet motion
rising & collapsing
at the same time,

mute grills
and eyes flashing
bright in the dawn,
steel carcass
beginning to rot—

Snorkeling under an expedition,
oxygen bubbles
belch against glass, pressing
door closed, until
it’s just plain desperate
in there:

looking out,
wanting out,
waiting it out

A silent scream
attracts the sharks;
remoras are strong enough to hold
the course even
when dollars hang in the air
like death or falling
snow

Travel to Cashback

Illustrions
of natural suicide
projected from my own eyes:
candy-brite rainbows
and mannequins voguing
and on
my living room walls,
each one myself,
I pray,

at some future time
when I have earned
all the box tops & proofs
of purchase,
sweet purchase,
sweet home away
from home

Le Coup

Facing death (disguised
as a dark wind)
the tightrope dancer
pirouettes
across the sky,

arms folding
above his head,
he drops a plucked star
to deep-rooted souls
pointing up—
up
there!

He’s laying flat on a thread,
a cloud’s breath above
man’s world, swaying
in a breeze that only
makes him smile

Fleeting on a needle,
this one angel can save
only those
who also brave the wire
of their own
lives

Prisoners of More

escorted hope
from the building
where it paraded in orange jumpers,
man after man
stumbling in dark
hoods

the last breeze
of breath & total absence
of light come
together in sleep
under a hood where peace
lies
dreaming

Soup du Jour (Election Year)

What mad captain
wants to go down
with his soup du jour
before him like a stain
on a white napkin
tied under his chin—

a soft noose not sturdy
enough to hold
his neck;

a loop in time
through which dance
his past marvels,
his wees and woes
and howdy
do’s

Smartly smirking to the chef—
almost a wink—
a plate of oysters
or foie gras,
perhaps

Some loose goose
all drawn up
with a raspberry sauce
blown from his
nose

Bring on the meat
the blubber
the floss—

the flensing knife cuts clean;
we are sailing backwards
at high tide,

underwater
with the best