three poems
by Bernard M. Cox


A COMMON COLD

The Trainman,
dressed in fine metal bracelets
and bags for shoes,
looked at me over his shoulder
between the two cops now hauling him away.
He said,
"The penals and the medicals will boom.
Peoples get sick.
Peoples go to jail."
My fever sharp as a shiv
and my chest as tight as a cell.
I hack up a lung
onto my lap.
"Sees right there.
That's what I be talking about,"
the Trainman nods
to my bloodied lung now flopping
on the floor.
I say to him, "I see the money in this
but it is difficult to breathe."
As the subway car stops
and the doors ready to open,
the Trainman shouts,
"No need for much air, the world is small
and getting smaller.
Six by ten, compartmentalized."
They heave him out
onto the platform
and my lung follows salmon-like;
searching for a river of wind.



A HOMELESS CYBORG BEGS

A sound distorted, garbled
barely recognizable;
"Hawwellpuhuleez,"
he squawks.
"Hawwellpuhuleez,"
as if he can't speak English.
He must have lost his interface,
or chip or cable or voice;
a distant, tinny reminder of ableness,
of connectivity.
His can rattles and rings
as pieces of tiny universes collide.
Flesh heaped in a metal and vinyl throne.
On top of the body of gears,
batteries and grey rubber wheels,
sits its head,
face stretched, smashed and twisted.
He ticks, ticks, wheezes,
shakes toward me.
"Hawwellpuhuleez."
I hurry on,
seeking asylum.


ADRIFT

A classroom of heads bob
like apples in a bucket
disconnected
arguing, apathetic

The main head, maybe the teacher,
announces, "I have something to say;
something almost very specific."

The other heads, who may or may not consider
themselves students
float, "Is that all you have to say?"

The main head stern, "Please listen.
It is important this thing.
It will change the way you think
about life, the universe, and everything."

"Everything? Well, what is it?"

"Semper ubi sub ubi!"
The main head proclaims.

"Ah" the maybe/not students say
"Yes. Underwear is the key, we agree."

But another head intercepts the main head
and changes tack. "This I cannot abide,"
says the new maybe teacher. "This is all wrong.
How can always wearing one's underwear be a good thing?
What about showers?
What about skinny dipping?
There must be a condition
to always.
I amend, wear underwear where appropriate."

The maybe/nots agree,
Half remove their underwear.

One shy head,
another possible teacher,
bobs side to side
in the wake of the flotsam and jetsam,
"I don't understand.
This makes no sense.
There is no why proposed.
There is no what, when or how.
There is no learning
in these statements.
I need to understand the meaning of underwear.
I need to know who decided under
and then under what?
Is under relative or is it constant?
Most of all, how does wearing
relate to existence?"

Some head across the bucket mumbles,
"One leg at a time."
Another whispers,
"We must cover our asses."
Finally, the first main head buoys,
"Boxers or briefs,
granny panties or thongs?"