Poems by Will Mayo

Holding Hands

by

Will Mayo

Her name was Cheryl.

She lived two doors down from me,

my cell in the midst of concrete blocks.

Together, we met each evening about six

(or was it eight? I'm not sure).

We watched the Late Evening Show,

watched the nurses close up shop

and we held hands together in the twilight.

I held her hands as she held mine,

caressing them gently as we watched the dying day.

One finger would caress her fortune,

reading the lines of her palms

like a gypsy upon the leaves.

Another would stroke her sideways,

a lover healing the cuts in her wrist.

Holding hands like some middleaged couple

celebrating a golden anniversary,

like centurions at the edge of time.

We cherished memories that were only five minutes old

yet felt like eons.

Little did we know

the clock would ring a second time,

signaling our release.

And the departure of passing time.

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Death Is A Celebration Of Life

by

Will Mayo

The mourners gather round,

their mouths working furiously

as the ground moves.

Eating wedding cake and cookies,

taking a sip of that old wine,

passing teardrops into the opening earth.

The priest mumbles about the Body and Blood.

The caterer rushes about,

smoothing out the white marble on the green tiers.

Mother, Son, and Holy Ghost take turns at the feast.

The Blue Nun tells all not to forget the onion dip.

Shrimp cocktail meanwhile froths at the mouth.

The organ grinder has his monkey for the show.

Doing turns tapdancing about the coffin.

All make merry to the tune of wringing sorrow from the last teardrop.

As the ants gather up the rest of summer's picnic.

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WINDOW SHOPPING

By

Will Mayo

All the shops are full tonight.

There's a window dresser's dummy

hanging from a nail.

There's a clothespin through the eye of a button

in the latest from torn pants.

And inside everywhere

the prostitute glares

from shades of every shop on the street.

Her reflection shows

a wig that's fitted too tight,

high heeled shoes made for stiletto blades,

and a size 8

that just won't quit.

She stares at you

like she wants you

to do her a favor.

And yet she'd rather you didn't.

Outside, the streetlamps dim

and slowly blink off.

She wrinkles her brow

in the late evening sunlight.

Tomorrow she will have varicose veins.

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Fortune hunters along the abyss

by

Will Mayo

Mountains made out of glass.

rivers sewn through with sorrow.

we enter a land unencumbered by time.

a region of mind and body and soul

where shapes peer out of the dark and the light.

a schizophrenic dull passing place

where fortunes are made as well as lost

and promises are never broken.

as runes pass forth into answers.

enter then, turn the page.

one more man is forgotten

and another is gained.

the washerwoman gleans the stone to follow.

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The Jungle

by

Will Mayo


Bees take after honey.
Pollen takes after stamen.
A thousand blooms in the bed.
Everything living. Everything dying.
The killing fields on a grander scale.
The sparrow traps the worm.
Paresis takes the sparrow to an early grave.
The killing goes on and on.
Bee after interloper.
Ladybug after smaller bug.
Only the swift and quiet snows of winter
shall slow the slaying.
Where all will sleep
and wait for a new and murderous spring.


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A distant prayer

by

Will Mayo

children of the night

come forth from every alleyway

and streetwise shelter.

where nuns ring the bell

for a mass that never follows.

and hermits set up shop

on every sidewalk vending place.

hoping to make a few bucks

but much rathering be left alone.

old men walk around in a daze,

never seeing, never really daring.

simply choosing to parse their riddles

in one word or less.

knights without swords

or armor to shield the silver

wander, too, singing verses

of that which they once knew

but no longer live to forget.

women without names

hold the answer.

for five bucks and a ten

(a vial also),

they’ll sell their souls

to hold a tale hidden in their hearts.

send up then a distant prayer

for the children of the night.

they alone know that

which lives a twixt the light and the dark.

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