David Lohrey


You Can’t Improve on Nature

Should we have pandas or not? Man decides.
Should I take her as a bride or not, used to be
the question. Since when did we gain this new
power to design the universe? It’s hard
enough for me to decide what to wear to bed.

Should we change the spark plugs is more my speed.
I can’t quite see what I have to do with rabbits.
Why would you ask? I’m not building another ark.
Don’t leave such matters to me and while you’re at it,
please don’t take these things upon yourself.

In other words, we should leave the fucking place exactly
as we found it. Should have nothing to do with it.
Mountains are not a matter of moral imperative. Neither
are field mice. If you care to kill one, be my guest, but
you have a lot of nerve asking me if their time has come.

Leave it alone, won’t you? You’re not happy with your sex,
fine. Turn yourself into a frog, but don’t ask Harry Potter
to make the lilies disappear. This entire enterprise is fine …
just the way it is, no room for improvement. What makes the
powerless powerful is not exterminating the vermin.

Panda bears or bats are not the problem, but this search for paradise
might be. This ever-present urge to improve the universe puts me
on edge. I’d rather go back to the pyramids, or further, back to the caves.
Back to nothing would be preferable to this, unless it entails making
us less destructive. I’d like to sign the petition. I vote to leave it be.



Solitary Confinement

Crows are fine and interesting, but
no more so than dandelions. Feathers
or seeds float or pirouette, blown by the wind:
dead or alive; surface events scarcely count
as much as luncheon with the Queen. After all,
we are not ants; how fast or slow we crawl
is of no consequence. Just tell me what she said.

The retinue is the hive; the bees relate the story.
It’s my goal to join in the tête-à-tête. It’s all revealed
in the buzz; but it depends on whether HRH is in.
The Queen’s presence quiets the din. The hive hums.
It’s the same for humans. We’re all heading for the box;
we know the way, by instinct. We just want someone
to tell our story: yakkity yak.

Walter Benjamin once said the best way to fill
a bookshelf is with a pen. Get to work. One’s library
card is an excuse. It’s better to commit it all to memory,
as in Fahrenheit 451. Telephones are the same as whiskey.
Human contact is fulfilling; it is better to withdraw.
Don’t lose your thread. We only get one heart;
it’d be foolish to break it.




David Lohrey’s plays have been produced in Switzerland, Canada, and Lithuania. His poems can be found at Expat Press, Eunoia, Stickman Review, Otoliths, and Modern Literature. His fiction can be seen at Dodging the Rain, Terror House Magazine, and Cleaning Up Glitter. Three new anthologies in 2019 include David’s work: Universal Oneness (India), Passionate Penholders (Singapore), and Suicide, A Collection of Poetry and Prose(UK). David’s first collection of poetry, Machiavelli’s Backyard, was published in 2017. His newest collection Who Started the Fires? will appear later this year, both by Sudden Denouement Publishers. He lives in Tokyo.
 
 
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