an early Christmas present
poetry by Len Kuntz
Rendezvous
I am screams and shrieks,
discordant and violent.
Flames coax skin off the bone.
I wish it were that easy.
Instead I watch from a parking lot across the street.
You have your own key.
All I see of him is two hands in the doorway,
reaching for you.
Bath Time
My daughter sinks into the bubble bath,
giddy and squealing.
Tomorrow she’ll be six whole years.
She says, “Daddy, if I try really hard,
can I turn myself into a dolphin?”
I’ve taught her nothing’s impossible,
and I hope to hell I’m right,
or else her mother really isn’t
coming back.
Repo
She tells me to stop bringing poets home for dinner.
She says, what about the novel, what’re you doing about that,
we have bills.
While she’s having her hair colored
I load it all in a U-Haul,
toss a match,
and leave her an early Christmas present.