Financial Advice to Poets

Plus three more by Joseph S. Salemi

Author

Publish Date

May 25, 2016

Military Funeral

The muffled roll of drums, the folded flag;
Three volleys from bolt-actions, sharp and crisp;
The clink of cartridge casings, and a wisp
Of bluish smoke. Then Taps begins its drag
Of lengthened notes — a melismatic wail
That seems to last forever. Next the scrape
Of boots as guardsmen exit, while black crepe
Billows beside the bier, an unlashed sail
Loose in autumnal breeze. The moment hits
The widow, whose composure starts to break.
She cannot hold back sobs; her shoulders shake.
Except for her, the grief-numbed family sits
As if held in suspended animation,
Deaf to the murmured “…from a grateful nation.”

Kissing Cousin

I see her every two years, usually
When someone dies or marries. And we kiss
As if we were old lovers, passionately,
Just as a silly spoof. She says I miss
These hot encounters! Prudish maiden aunts
Are duly scandalized, and start to talk.
I say Now ladies, I’ve kept on my pants —
When they come off, you’ve got the right to squawk.

The family laughs, we smile, the joke is done —
The business that’s at hand takes our attention.
At dinner, while conversing with her son,
I learn that there’s a knot of fierce dissension
Between her and her husband. And my blood
Rises like rebel rivers in full flood.

The Final Checkmate

No strategy with chessmen
(Deploy them how you will)
Can stop the Final Checkmate as
He zeroes in to kill.

Your knights and rooks and bishops,
Your pawns in rank and file —
Not one of them can hold him back,
Nor all your force and guile

Can stop the Final Checkmate
From clearing off the board,
And finding you alone before
His unrelenting sword.

You sidestep to a corner,
You zigzag left and right —
You try to hold a candle to
The fast-descending night,

But Final Checkmate’s steady
In his approaching tread.
He leaves no loophole for escape —
Your king is trapped and dead.

Financial Advice to Poets

A poet is a silly sod
If he thinks he’ll earn a wad
Of money from his verse transcendent —
You’d make more as a john attendant.
This has been the decree of Fates
From Homer up to Butler Yeats:
Obscurity and empty purses
Shall dog poor fools who write in verses.
You only turn this trade to bucks
By teaching it to dumber schmucks.

Joseph S. Salemi teaches in the Department of Classical Languages at Hunter College, C.U.N.Y. He has published seven books of poetry, the latest of which is Steel Masks (White Violet Press, 2013). His poems, essays, translations, and scholarly articles have appeared in over 100 publications worldwide. He is the editor of the poetry magazine TRINACRIA and a regular monthly columnist for The Pennsylvania Review, an online literary journal.