Why Did the Buddha Sit Under the Tree?
and other short poems
by Michael Finley
CHRISTMAS
the road is a memory
lost in the blizzard
the snow is falling
sideways
the cattle's eyes are
too frozen to blink
they will be dead in
the morning
ELEVATORS
walking through
the financial district
i smell hay
Why Did the Buddha Sit Under the Tree?
to get to the other side
I HEAR WATER
Inside the aquarium the fish
Stand still and bubbles roll
To the surface. I am
Standing by the sill
Watching the rain come down.
GOOD
fish in the fishtank
bread in the bag
me waking up on the studio couch
the system is working
GOLF POEM
shirt soaked through
and running from lightning
i stop running and fumble
with my buttons
and water the earth while
the earth waters me
The Tide
keeps complaining
ish ish ish
The Pittsfield Tornado
easter twister
scrapes through
town, a hoe
of steel
in the grip
of god
away with winter's
hangers-
on
and break
fresh ground
for planting
Williams Arena
rachel's skates
scrape along ice
she isn't thinking
about anything
Thank You
To the pirate faced biker
streaming slowly down
Marshall Avenue,
colors jazzed in the
night time light,
front wheeled Harley
out to here, black
jacket man with beard
of steel, who saw my
one year old boy craning
in his blue stroller,
and waved.
The Business of Bees
when prices are normal
and weather cold, bees clump
in a knot, suck sugar
and hum to stay warm
but when sugar is high
it's cheaper to dump them
out of their drawers and buy
a new queen come the spring
this year the bees are
tumbling, hear: sugar
is dear, the snow lies
buzzing on the ground
ACCIDENT
this coffee cup broken on the floor
will never be whole again
such a small thing,
still all this pain in your eyes
tell me, how can I make it right?
before I met you I
was hollow, too,
and every little tap
resounded for hours.
now see how easy
I shrug off disaster
you are my coffee
I stir, I cool you
with my breath
Elephants
they shoulder their way like elephants
through the town & erect a blockade
of mahogany and teak
businessmen evacuate by ladders in the air
from a satiny box the mayor produces a key
this is a city that keeps its promises
the dark good smell of manure
We Asked for a Sign
three days he waited to fart
then it came, endlessly bubbling,
like a mchine gun in honey
his widow smiled thinly
just as the man stepped
off the chair and into
the noose the building
shook the walls caved
in an arm of water
18 feet at the crest
swept into the room
(You Can't Quit
You're Fired)
EATING & FLYING
the one as familiar
as the other,
a sleigh traversing piles
of cloud, the tinfoil
peeled from
a steaming lunch
this cauliflower
seems familiar
PARKING LOT
the attendant at the parking lot
was angry this morning
his shovel was missing,
and in a crack in the blacktop
near the corner of Eighth & LaSalle
five weeds were sticking their heads up,
looking for trouble
I FEEL SORRY FOR MY FISH
my poor fish never go to Coon Rapids
I can go to Coon Rapids
whenever I wish,
weekends or after work
Entrepreneur
This spider studied real estate.
He built a web at the corner station
over the sign flashing Quaker State --
location, location, location.
At the Lake
the day has had its way with us,
and now in the twilight
couples sway by the waters
married couples are paying attention to one another,
couples courting rock in silence,
a man on a bicycle pedals by sobbing, in red shoes.
Copyright (c) 1995 by Michael Finley
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