By David Stallings © 2010
My frayed black leather Day-Timer,
standard size, used to be
the Cadillac of business calendars.
Now, placed in front of me
on meeting tables, it’s surrounded by
colleagues’ sleek, intelligent devices—
purring and synched to company
calendars, email, Twitter, and GPS coordinates.
The pages of my archived monthly inserts
turn like dry leaves, their veins and spots
evidence that I had appointments,
kept notes, squeezed in [...]
By David Stallings © 2008
My mother, a fifth grade teacher,
works as hostess one summer
at the Indian Grill. She urges me
to apply as a busboy.
The first day, she introduces me to
the owner, Mr. Wadsworth,
and his partner and chef, Mr. Graney.
Great folks, Mother says.
The head busboy, Louis, warns
me that Mr. Graney, like most chefs,
is a drunk—Wiseow, man,
watch out for him!
I [...]
By David Stallings © 2008
One day Louis’ older brother
drops by the Indian Grill,
and we take a break from bussing dishes.
Carlos wears a wavy D.A.,
greets us with a scarred hand.
Louis tells me his brother
wanted to marry, needed a job.
No one would hire him
because of the tattoo
between his left thumb and forefinger.
So Carlos drove north of town,
up into Austin Bluffs, used [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
Awake from a dream
of failure as a college professor,
I get up to pee.
Settling back into bed warmth,
I find that in my absence
demons slipped in, and they mean
business. Tonight, they employ mind
swirlers and leg tremors,
leaving brain and guts wrenched.
What’ll I do what’ll I do?
Work, relationship, future–all shit.
With effort, I herd them
from mind to belly. [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
Caitlin, a down-winder,
lay dying in the hospital.
Who thought of it first?
Let’s do the wedding now!
Scott was there, license
in hand. Witnesses?
Here’s Jan, visiting from our office,
and Caitlin’s oncologist makes two.
I have my Universal Life minister
certificate. Afterward we cried,
but then Scott went out
for a six-pack and we toasted
the newlyweds. No beer for
Caitlin, but she [...]
By David Stallings © 2004
From a tentative reference
in a tangential discussion
a confidence is taken,
a truth revealed.
A work mate has leukemia.
Churning, I must share
this news with a trusted
one. Hesitantly, I speak
in a darkened room.
Soon we will all
know.
(No. 74 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
By David Stallings © 2003
Recently I heard of an old fellow,
a lawyer, who worked until he was
almost 100 years old.
Then he had an accident, a fall.
He died during his convalescence.
They say the cause of death
was unspecific; that most likely
he died of a broken
routine.
There is no other life.
(With apologies to Gary Snyder.)
