Poems by Ace Boggess

 

Casing the Joint

                Statewide Lockdown, Day Eight

Third time I’ve seen that white Dodge Ram
pulling down the cul-de-sac,
pausing, racing away in reverse.

I snapped a picture. The truck, not the driver.
Could be anyone on streets nobody wanders:
a tourist in the land of the dead,

collector of mementos mori,
worm wallowing in moistened earth,
vulture that feasts on a carcass by the road.

 

Ants Break Quarantine

                                Statewide Lockdown, Day Six

Hole in my isolation chamber? I’ve been panic-
eating hamburgers, ice cream, spaghetti, chips.

Shiny, beaded questers truck across the counter
seeking crumbs of garlic toast, a shard of burned meat,

splatter patterns of pancake syrup gelling in the drain.
Ants have arrived at the feast, uninvited guests

like Poe’s Red Death or the new coronavirus,
visible & bold, planting flags on an island.

 

I Grew Up Watching the Three Stooges

every Saturday morning, yet think about Larry,
Moe, & Curly only as often as I remember
the girl who stood me up at a Whitesnake concert.

All that slapstick—eye pokes, sawblades,
Larry’s hair ripped out in handfuls—erupts,
unexpected. I spent half as much time

in prison among like-minded villains, &
I see their faces daily, cruel antics, scheming,
scowling, blowing smoke into a bathroom vent,

as if years warehoused were my childhood.
I cling to memories as if nostalgic for teen love,
movies about flying saucers, games involving seances

with cousins on a patio by the woods.
Isn’t insanity pining for the worst of times?
When I try to change the subject, explore

delicate isolation from my youth, a door closes
to shut me out, trap me in that atmosphere
of growing up, old, & broken by the beautiful world.