Joe Dolce: Two Poems

Possomnia

Short, rattling, guttural,

territorial vibrato, incongruous

with that furry babyface.

Torch light cones a child’s soft toy

clinging to a branch.

Brief staring match between

my beam and wide moon eyes.

An hour later, thud!

on overhead tin, claws-on-chalkboard,

thump thump, waddling

nocturnal toddler trying to find entry,

but every crack chicken-wire sealed.

Last year, sleep starved, I shot one,

eaten at midnight with potatoes.

I know, I know: protected species,

but so are humans and sleep is sacred.

This year, it’s live and let rattle.

I lie awake, biting my lip,

contemplating scratch and bump.

Most eventually leave empty-fisted,

and I recall sleep, but

for the occasional stubborn cousins,

the back-end of a broom handle

sends ’em scissoring off.

Joe Dolce

Green Dream

Not absinthe,

or a world without global warming,

the barbiturate Nembutal,

illegally imported, mail-order, in perfume boxes,

from Mexico, Peru, Bangkok, Beijing,

Tijuana (destination of choice for death tourists),

available from local pet shops,

Holy Grail of suicide,

the peaceful pill.

Legal in Netherlands, Belgium, Switzerland and Oregon.

Promoted by end-of-life organizations Exit International, Dignitas.

Green-dyed, distinctive colour, to prevent accidental use,

created to euthanize animals.

The drug-of-choice for veterinarians,

at four times the rate of general population.

One took her four dogs and two cats,

before herself.

Joe Dolce