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Dorothy Bates



Aubade

I wake
to the sound
of rain
doing a Fred Astaire
on the roof.
The shower.
The shivers.
My old sweatshirt
takes me in its arms.

Eau de caffeine.
Hot buttered heaven.
Blackberry jam.
Vivaldi.
Nothing to do all day
but write poems.

Solitude,
my lover.




In Memoriam


sometimes when I pass
a mirror
I'm reminded
of how Old
I have become

and how many nights
I have spent
with my faithful lover
Jack Daniels

and how I have
consumed
so many
baked potatoes
that I'm starting to
Look
like one.

then I go and read
some Bukowski
(especially the one
about that tough
motherfucker cat)
and everything seems
okay again.

Why is it that
he, of all
the poets,
instills in me
such joy
at being
just the way
I am?





©2003 by Dorothy Bates


Dorothy Bates is a magazine editor, lyricist, and writer of special material for cabaret performers. She has been published many times, including Crone Chronicles, Sedona Journal of Emergence, ZeBooksZine, Realizations, and poetz.com. Poems in Off the Cuffs (anthology; Soft Skull Press 2003) and The Pagan's Muse: Poems of Ritual and Inspiration (anthology; Kensington Publishing Corp 2003).


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