Two Poems

by Larry Narron

Y2K
 
Our fireproof closet accumulates
Tang, PowerBars, pallets
of bottled water, emergency

lanterns that promise
to shed light after the stars collapse.
After the Marlboros,

pocket knives, VHS porn,
come the essentials:
our stepfather's cases

of Budweiser, bottom-shelf
whiskey, a collection
of hand-carved gourds from Peru.

When he shoulders
the door & its lock
no longer latches, what room

will there be for the photograph
album our mother left
under their bed, the one with

a Polaroid of our father
on slide guitar
with a band in a Seventies dive?

For my comic books
whose heroes will all lose
their powers

after the outage
when villains start looting
the city on New Year's Day?
 
    

Master of Puppets

                           Elektra, 1986

The tangle of wires
swept into a corner
of the garage where they bleed
electricity until it clots.

The flashlight balanced
on its end so its cone
braids rivers of dust
around a solitary snow-
shoe tied to the rafters
by broken straps.

(The bulb sways dead in its noose.)

Put the radio on
top of the rumbling washer,
turn up Metallica
until the speakers
shake out a blizzard of embers.

Drown out the ghosts
breaking plates in the kitchen
with kickflips you keep landing primo.

Slip out so your board
flies into the drum
of the garage door warped by rain,
banging against it so hard
its echoes keep chasing
the Tundra long after it's gone.

    
Larry Narron grew up in San Diego County and graduated from the University of California, Berkeley. His poems have appeared in Phoebe, The Brooklyn Review, The Boiler, and other journals. They've been nominated for the Best of the Net and Best New Poets.