Jon Wolston's Poetry Archive

Marred by dark varnish
and water damage
here and there,
Sittow piles up the paint
at the National Gallery.

Esme’s back
from Gay Paree.

He walked a lot
because it’s free.

Remember the year
we played Hound Dog Taylor
on a windy night

and Chris took Yuki
on a wild sailboat ride?

I’m in a suitcase
God carries around
with decals from the Ile.

The handle’s broken.
If I would but care
I’d open up and feel.

I hate this mustard!
Naked statues everywhere!
Dad says the nuns
knocked all their peckers off.
What a trick to play that was.

Craning for the
light impromptu
I see this day
a pregnant camp,

holding in my
arms a beauty
a child within
my cheeks so damp.

Jonas noted
that Beauty was almost
blind in one eye.

He said nothing about the ox
and neither did Whit.

My brother got two oil lamps
at this insane yard sale
the Catholics put on.

I saw the biggest
squirrel munching on
red dogwood berries
outside my window
this morning.

Ain’t it funny
the way God moves?

I gave her violets
for working me in pronto
for that root canal.