Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-nine
Winter 2015
Four Poems from the Gulf of Mexico
Ted Lardner

                              Lazy Bones

No dogs to let out.
No one’s breakfast to prepare.
I will have to roll on
my left side
to deal with this.

Out the curtain the sun is
lighting everything up.
Busy, busy.

                              Reversible Breathing

Dolphins swim slate-colored, glass-coated water,
they break silently through it, blackening,
shiny, they roll under,
our exclamations,
our faces, the air
flashing behind them.

                              Some Lines by Tu Fu that Could Be about You, My Friend

So real, Paul, I could have touched you,
old friend,
three nights in a row.

What kind of journey are you
having? You left in
a hurry.

I knew you didn’t
want to.
The world you
left behind
thickens around me.


Mine and mine alone,
the glint and clutter the sunlight makes,
letting the water cut it to ribbons.
Dreamy. Half-awake
at the door of a cabbage palm
sawing away at its chain,
its chain of being a cabbage palm.
My son on a porch near here once
dropped handfuls of pennies,
I think it was pennies,
down his shirt and, let loose,
they fell on the floor
where we read them, a fortune.
Sitting within inches of it,
the Gulf, I am not moving.
You can have as many
sea shells as you can carry, Sally.
I’m listening to the curl,
the lip the water slides up
this slope of beach, pulling back
the till. As slowly as I can
I let my eyes dive under
the waves that let the
sky fall inside them then
crush it to bubbles.

About Ted Lardner

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