Saxby Pridmore: Four Poems

Our Street

Our poor mangy bloody

street. If it was a dog

you’d put it out

of its misery. As a puppy

it was different—all

floppy ears and slobber.

We were in and out

of each other’s houses

and no one cared

two hoots

about the bloody carpet.

But the biting fleas

of envy

wore us down

lowered our resistance

till someone gossiped and

it went like wildfire.

We’re not bad

just human. But

our street’s got distemper

and needs to be put down.

The Dead Sea

The water of the Dead Sea

is diamond clear like vodka.

No weed no slime no skeletons

no stick with cobwebs and a dangling leaf.

Ripples over clean salty pebbles, as

fruitless as footprints on the moon.

Saxby Pridmore

Mespilus germanica

(for GT)

Indigenous around the Baltic Sea

The Balkans, the Caucasus and Asia Minor

Lives the long forgotten medlar tree.

Yet, the ancient Greeks found no fruit finer.

Hemispheres of foliage and ragged white flowers

The oddness begins when the leaves fall in winter

Revealing daggy hanging fruit, which tastes sour

The trick is in the timing and the prize is quainter.

It’s a rare fruit that undergoes bletting, the term

For getting better beyond ripe. Sure, they go

Brown and wrinkly and all squashy not firm

But, the blessed bletted flesh will set you aglow.

I like medlars’ approach to time

I have improved since my prime.

Waiting for Willie

I waited for Willie to take him to school

He was always late and I jangled my keys

The apple of our eyes—Mary’s and mine

Just, some kids mature slower than others

As I waited I jangled my keys

But wait, he left school a decade ago

Some kids mature slower than others

Some fathers relive the best parts of life

But Willie left school a decade ago

The apple of our eyes—Mary’s and mine

Sometimes I dream the best part of my life

I like waiting for Willie to take him to school.

Saxby Pridmore