Bob Marcacci

Three Untitled Poems

            we’re not only
                    not lonely
                 we’re fearless
            and less and less
                                    we’re tears
we’re crying in our beers and booze
         we don’t lose
            we won’t
            if we stay
        we stood our ground
          looked around one another
              each sister brother
                 a wonder
   we’re under that spell
this holiday swell
         sure that we were shared
                we were who cared
               who dared to kiss
          to miss something
               at most
            too scared to boast
              we’re tired
                      we will


After finding a cockroach in the piano,
My enthusiasm for music
That afternoon died.

It was a big one, on its back,
The width of a piano key and a half,
One long leg saluting me.

It seemed to be dead or dying
And I whisked it onto the ground
With a green broom from the closet.

My heart was racing.
I had intended to sweep it
Out of my apartment, however, even

In its apparent state, perhaps only drugged
By the slow decay of some poison it had ingested,
It looked ready to take flight.

I thought: cockroaches can fly,
And did what you would expect,
Not wanting the insect to escape

Or try any more of its leg-waving hocus-pocus.
I was convinced it was simply feigning death,
But I made certain it would arrive there.

That evening, in bed, in the dark,
Every sound attracted me
With a morbid fascination.

Were there others? Are cockroaches so loud?
Is it only a gecko?
I got out of bed to look about,

Armed with the green broom,
Whisking around baskets and underneath furniture.
And it was there, in the living room

With all the lights of the apartment lit,
Squatting in front of the TV,
That I knew I would retake this world.


who does he think he is?
half a man up there
talking to us
in his code

you tweet
half a woman?
half a bird, more like
who is he?

in that cloud
you see what he is
or she is
do you have any questions?

he thinks it’s important to answer
half and half
she thinks it’s too much
it takes too long to download…

half a bird or half a moon?
why is he like this song you know?
half a song
you sing to yourself

without music
where you are somehow
half here
somehow connected

where he is and she
and a bird and a book
half a heart
holding a phone
instead of a hand

Bob Marcacci is currently teaching English in Qatar.
Twitter handle: @BobMarcacci
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