Two Poems by Louis Phillips

FOR MY PAROLES OFFICER

With words galore
I told him (in French, of course),
My Agent de libération conditionnelle,
That all my sins
Sound so much more exotic
In foreign languages
Than they do at home,
Where I am considered dull.
When I mention the 18 yr old girl
Who lives across the street
& sunbathes in the nude,
Or at least as close to nude
As a person can get
In our tight-assed neighborhood,
I use the phrase msichana mzuri.
My other parole officer —
My wife —accuses me of muttering.
I am glad she does not speak Swahili.

NO DOUBT THE SAME
CAN BE SAID

Morning has no use for me.
It comes & goes
Whether I need it or not.
It does not pick up after itself.

No doubt the same can be said
For the rest of the day.
Night is fiercely independent
&  often makes a mess of things.

Finally sleep arrives
With its crop-sowing
Scattering of images
That make sense completely

Until I wake  up 
To think about them.