Two poems by Laurel Ann Bogen

Vocation of the Chair
It longs to be one

who holds you, keeps you

from falling, its curved legs

shapely as a bride.

The chair that would be saint,

martyr, acolyte. Your little

sins of omission and false pride

cannot sway it — the chair believes

in you. It grows taller in the dark.

Soon it will fill the room,

its cushion of praise all you need

in the crude and faithless light.

Taking Care of Futurism
Oh Futurism, I want to take

your pulse and listen

to your heartbeat

with an atomic stethoscope of love!

I’m tired of the past

with its ashcanned regret.

In the World of Tomorrow

you are New Year’s Eve,

even if it’s only November.

Your hi-def fingers tousle my hair.

Let’s hijack the next open mind

that floats by on a sound waved air car,

hide under blankets with our socks on,

dine on dee vee dee dinners.

There are no eggplants of yesteryear

and today’s only an hourglass

away from last week.

I don’t want a goldfish or a ferret, only you.

I’ll be your Clara Barton if you’ll be

my Louis Pasteur. We can play

doctor all night, x-ray the interior

of the human heart. Find the darkness

behind what passes for history.

You see, you are making me all poetic.

Laurel Ann Bogen is the author of ten books of poetry and short fiction. For several years she was literary curator at the L.A. County Museum of Art and since 1990 has been an instructor of poetry and performance for the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. Well known for her lively readings, Bogen has been the recipient of a Curtis Zahn Poetry Prize and two Academy of American Poets awards. “Vocation of the Chair” is from Washing a Language published by Red Hen Press. “Taking Care of Futurism” originally appeared in Spot Literary Magazine. The poems are reprinted by permission. The author’s photo is by Richard Beban.