poems by Doug Draime
All Due Respect To The Ladies
My wife hides
me from
her conservative
friends. I’m
sequestered
in the bedroom
drawing up
plans for the
overthrow.
I drink a six pack
of MGD,
smoke a joint,
and shout
the words of
Mayakovsky
and Marx
into the crack
of light
under the door.
A Stormy Night As The Electricity Goes On And Off
The falling rain
sounds like a
huge crackling campfire
and the dog is
under the bed pretending
to be the cat.
Everyone on TV
is dancing a weird tango
(especially the politicians)
and the radio refuses
to be coherent.
A Brahms sonata
is waffling up from
the garbage disposal
and the thunder is
plummeting through the
Oregon wilderness,
screeching like Big Foot
with a shovel jammed
up his anus.
On They Way To Whitman's Grave
To pay my respects
With roses & gladiolas
But got sidetracked, felt up,
Drunk & lied to
By a Long Island transplant
Named Lucy, in a bar
Called Walt’s Place.
When she left
With another guy,
I stayed till closing time.
Doug’s most recent chapbook is Unoccupied Zone (Pitchfork Press, 2004), and forthcoming from Scintillating Publications,
Spiders And Madmen. He currently lives In Oregon.
