poems by Jonathan Hayes
I Stumble
around the room
with patches of shaving cream
on my red-scratched face,
still, she stays,
as I pretend to hold it all together.
Dim Sum
On a Saturday afternoon,
cold wind blows into the restaurant,
then, the authority of drums
a band marches up the street,
followed by its hearse,
as I swallow a piece of pork.
On Getting Out Of Bed
Throw the blankets off like enemies,
and the pillows like former lovers.
There,
alone on the bare sheet,
rise from the battlefield.
Jonathan lives in San Francisco, California. He has taught poetry at 826 Valencia, a writing center for children, located in the Mission District of the City.
