PUNK POETRY: Two Poems by Matthew Freeman

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It was another bloodless revolution 

today at Starbucks. I myself spoke 

for twenty-three minutes straight 

and at the end no one knew what I'd said. 

As Q-Tip pointed out somewhere in the canon, 

that is some heartfelt shit here. 

Moment 

I was in the ER with my little sister

worried and wondering

just how selfish it would be

if I got up and walked to the bathroom

to pee and get a drink from the faucet—

all of the fountains were still shut down—

and then I wondered

how selfish it would be to read my Dean Koontz

and as all this appeared in my mind

I wondered how selfish it is

to compose a poem in your head when

your sister’s in the ER

and then my revery was broken

when my sister interrupted the silence and said,

“This is how I should start my memoir. You know,

In Media Res.”

 

Well. Right before I wrote this

I was smoking and as I looked down

fondly at my cigarette

it occurred to me that it’s now been thirty years

since I had that special moment

in a Holiday Inn at the bottom of Manhattan

when I eased back in the warm tub

and noticed I had about half of a cigarette left

and got this beautiful vibe

of comfort and abundance, this weird

serenity.

--Matthew Freeman