poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Another Date Ruined By Kellyanne Conway

He starts by asking if she likes Italian food. She responds by trying to figure out whom they know in common. The soup comes and she proceeds to wedge sugar packets under the legs of the tipsy table. The man is impressed. Now they are bragging about their children. His daughter is marrying a son of the Earl of ----. She’s impressed. Just get that peerage connection out there upfront. Start with the gold, stay for the swag. He just said he thinks Kellyanne Conway is cute. The lady doesn’t like that. Shut old man! Shut up. You were crushing it. Nobody’s getting Italian food tonight. “But in his own mind he’s the greatest president ever.” She’s rolling her eyes. “The press has been against him.” He doesn’t see her reach for her purse. “Everything they say is wrong. It’s scary.” The lady is leaving. Now he’s asking if she likes music. She’s zipping her coat. She’s like yeah, music’s ok.

Friday, February 17, 2017

Women and Children First

Last night the maze of men
with guns stretched too tight

cocked back the orange-clad arm
of their attention and followed the path of bullets

growing from the rotted logs, the path of spent
casings and never you mind, out-of-season,

out-of-range, shoot into the cattails, suck the dry
air through thatched-rooftop spitting mouth.

They use these lips to kiss their mothers, to sing
songs of meaningless mockingbird love, to shout:

Lock her up! Lock her up!
They can’t break this country like a rotten log

can’t forget their cash cows—the gas stuck
in rocks waiting for the frack-crack—can’t

put down the chainsaw. Last night that maze of men
saluted with that orange arm, they drew back,

trespassed and landed in the over-leveraged leaves
and all the meaningless mockingbird market bells rang.