Poems by Bob Stout

 

Happy Hour

Edging through the crowded tables, "Hey!"
and "Hi!" and "Glad t'see ya!" I sought refuge
in a corner of the fern bar's dance
expanse, a bit aglow from my first pint,

the lawyers at their corner of the bar,
jeweler, bankers in their cluster, architect,
rec worker, pot trimmer sharing lies,
little clots of liberal professors,

a few still-clinging-to-the-Sixties hippies
wearing New Age shirts and old tie-dye.
Lonely, lots of them I thought, despite
lovers, exes, wives and husbands, yet-to-bes

as though in all our high-achieving
we'd abandoned little children way back
down the line and now they clamored to be
noticed, "Mamma, mamma! Come and get me!

Tell me smart and cute and pretty!"
As the music started, partners paired off
and I nodded, wishing for warm cookies
and a snuggly teddy bear.

 

---

 

San José del Cabo, Mexico

for
sale
(everything!)

waves
frothing white
in moonlight

buy one!

Paypal/Visa/$$$/pesos

condominiums
time shares
jet skis

warm tortillas
cold beer

mariachi music
lonesome tears

 

---

 

When He Was Almost Two

he was the center of a world enclosed
by a thin row of Chinese elms, a lilac bush,
cornstalks lisping in the breeze.
He absorbed chattering crows,
his mother's laugh, his father's height
doubling down to press him
against sweaty factory worker clothes.
Years later he would hear that they were poor
—suffering through unhappy times—
but those to him just words, like words in books,
not real like throwing rocks
in the irrigation ditch or catching
snowflakes in an outstretched glove.