Bob Lucky


If ignorance were bliss, surely
more people than me would be
ecstatic. Instead, I’m surrounded
by mopers and moaners who
keep raining on my parade
and pissing in the flower beds
of other ignorant gardeners.
Clearly through the ages dark
and golden, philosophy slipped
off the edge of some flat earth
idea and bobbed up as if nothing
had happened, flashing that eureka
smile, and ever since we’ve been
excessively proud of our ignorance. 

Days and Nights at the Tavern

(Blackout poems based on Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes (1907) by Robert Louis Stevenson.)


The Lesson Why didn’t my parents ever give me accordion lessons or bagpipe lessons or musical saw lessons or Theremin lessons or harmonium lessons or violin lessons or even bongo or harmonica or ocarina lessons? It was the crooked-tooth smile ploy they always used to hide their poverty. Well, son, would you like that old horse-doctor dentist to yank out a few teeth, take some long needles and jab you in the gums so you can flash your pearlies at the girlies, or find a girl who likes a buck-toothed smooch? In the end I opted for the banjo that no one ever taught me how to tune.
Bob Lucky is the author of Ethiopian Time (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2014), Conversation Starters in a Language No One Speaks (SurVision Books, 2018), My Thology: Not Always True But Always Truth (Cyberwit, 2019), and the e-chapbook What I Say to You (proletaria.org, 2020). He lives in Portugal with his wife and a jangle of ukuleles.
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Blogger Jack Galmitz said...

Mighty good work, Bob.
Enjoyed the heck out of the poems.
Even the blackouts, which I usually don't like.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful work.

8:12 AM  

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