Poetry Magazine, Bernadette Geyer, January 2002

Poetry Magazine

Bernadette Geyer

USA

Factory, Milan

The smell of chemical solvents
mixes with that of the gases
released by hydraulic machines,
the blinding stench of a blowtorch

and, on the other side of the room,
a cigarette. Drill presses stamp
and click a marching rhythm
against the hiss and echo of the

other machinery. On locker-door
posters, women spread their legs,
revealing shaved crotches, pink
like raw shellfish. A man

picks up a bamboo coat tree, moves
it to his new work station. Gently,
he hangs his jacket on one of the
branches and turns to his duties.

A Porch Like This

A porch like this was meant for winter -
with landscapes and horizons
visible only through barren trees.

We don woolen caps, coats
and mittens to bear the wind
so we can truly appreciate the view,

inhale the wood smoke
laced with the smell of icicles
and frozen leaves.

In the dusk, I see only
winks of distant cars. I listen
for nature's quiet laments,

but hear only a passing airplane.
When it is gone, my ears
continue to strain.

Who knew there could be so much silence?

Tantrum Woman

Feel the knuckle.
Erupt in the right now.
Spit like forgetting.
Think madly of faces.
And throw trouble
until you sweat shake crazy
everywhere.

For My Husband, Who
Misses the Jeff Koons
Exhibit at the Berlin Guggenheim

My dear -
you would have loved
his "Hair With Cheese,"
the molten yellow elixir
streaming
in Dali-esque ripples
past a disembodied
fuchsia smile.

If those were my lips,
I'd (you'd?) be
licking them.