Black Butterfly
There never was
anyone like Ali
between the ropes
or facing the public.
In the ring and out
we saw a man
float like a butterfly,
sting like a bee.
He was to boxing
what Astaire
was to dancing,
what Sinatra was
to singing.
A nonpareil.
But no one stopped
Fred from dancing
or Frank from singing
because of a war
Ali and many
never understood.
Donal Mahoney
A Place to Put Stuff
Last night my recliner broke.
I used the lever to lean back
and I went way back, almost
heels over head. A shock.
I hate going to the recliner store
when the chair I bought there
five or six years ago breaks.
They always do, dramatically,
almost on schedule.
I hate going around the store,
sitting up and down until the
right throne fits my keister.
It’s not the money involved
although they aren’t cheap.
I just hate the process.
But the homeless man on the ramp
I gave two bucks to this morning
he doesn’t have a place to put
a recliner even if I bought him one.
It wouldn’t fit in his plastic bags
and would be too heavy to drag
to his overnight shelter.
In five or six years when my
new recliner breaks I’ll try to
remember him and realize
I have a place to put stuff
and he doesn’t and isn’t that
one of the differences between
the homeless man and me
and Hillary and The Donald.
Donal Mahoney
A Hollow Tale
A mountain man is Fillmore
but there are no mountains
where Fillmore lives
deep in a hollow.
He's never had a job
and doesn’t want one now
spends his days huntin’ coon
squirrel and possum
and that catamount
lore says is black.
At night he reads by
lantern light with pit bull
Satan poised at his feet.
Folks in town know Fillmore
doesn't feature people
so no one comes callin’.
He feeds Satan
but not too much.
He wants Satan hungry
when the thief of night
comes through the window
the way that stranger did
a few years back and Satan
had a midnight snack.
Since then Satan waits
poised at Fillmore’s feet
primed for another snack.
Donal Mahoney
Our Mistakes Are Us
Old Sam on his deathbed says
he’d rewrite his life if he could.
He’d do so many things differently,
be nice to all his wives if he could
but luckily they had died before him.
When he was in grammar school
he admired the president in office.
When asked if he would change
anything in his life, Truman
rasped, “Not a damn thing!”
Old Sam has pondered this for
many years and thinks his life
has been misspent writing poems
that are little more than broken lines,
unruly couplets and forced rhymes.
Our mistakes are us, Old Sam says.
Truman should have done something
different to end the war than ordering
commanders to drop atomic bombs.
Murdering innocents is not the answer.
Donal Mahoney
Earthquake in the Yard
He’s a vet from Vietnam
who won’t say much about
what happened over there
except to say his problem
began with Agent Orange,
the breathing problem he has
cutting grass, raking leaves
and shoveling snow,
the only work anyone
will hire him to do.
The money helps him live
on what the government
gives him but that’s not much
because it’s obvious
the man's not living well.
Watching him mow grass
from an upstairs window
on a sultry day and have
him stop and cough so
many times, you want to
pay him not to mow but
know that won't work.
The man can’t breathe
but he still has pride.
So you pay him well,
force him to take a tip
and wonder if some day
he’ll fall on his mower
or maybe on the grass
and won’t get up at all,
the earthquake coughing
being what it is,
ripping him apart.
Donal Mahoney
