Potluck

 

T H I S    W E E K

WATERSLIDES IN AUXILIARY HOSPITAL WASHROOM by Daniel Thompson

 

Two Poems by Paasha Motamedi

 

who doesn’t like dogs

 

gentlemen

and i use that term loosely

god is giving a picnic

we were invited

but the last one

you guys complained that the grass

was making your jeans wet

and the sun was sort of too hot

but the grass was wetter in the shade

and the food on the trees wasn’t growing

big or fast enough

and the meat wasn’t

juicy or succulent enough

and the water wasn’t sparkling

you couldn’t find the waste baskets

not realizing you could bury everything

to turn to dust to turn to soil to turn to food

he brought everything

but your criteria has made

you blind of wonderment

 



 

the great mall

 

i either wanted to buy

and be good at

jacks from the toy store

or a band t-shirt

maybe iron maiden

but that is too early

now that i think about it

it was san jose or

waikiki but

the food court would’ve

been the same anyways

four well-known fast food chains

three places with things on

an open grill

and two cafes channeling

someone’s half-remembered

trip to europe

while it was sunday afternoon

none of the people i passed by

looked like they were

shopping out of need

want or even entitlement

the shoe dragging shuffle

droves of yawning adults

children on a slack leash

sulking obediently behind

they are here out of habit

and i’m jane goodall

 

Existing mostly on the fringes of the poetry world, Paasha Motamedi has been writing bad poetry for about ten years, and regular poetry for another five after that. His style is influenced heavily by the New York school, with contemporary explications of the "self" in an absurd new world. He is currently considering not publishing his second book of poetry, his first having been lost in a houseboat fire.