Three Poems : Jerome Crooks

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Here Come the Waves

I am never dressed for the weather.
The report is always drowned
out by the waves.

Naked and running and singing
the waves laugh and
wait for me to fall over.

Lord there are only one set of footprints out here.
uneven and teetering I am
sure they’re not yours.

I’ve searched high and low tide an all
I’ve got to show are sand dollars and crabs.
Here come the waves.

I’m buying real estate in the Atlantic.
I know what is going on.
I see the waves flex and
crack their knuckles and necks,
            the noise isn’t snoring anymore.

The waves are warming up,
coughing and clearing the snot
from their throats.

Here come the waves.
Our bodies up against each other
night after night and an another night to be named later
            in the week.
The pounding waves, the spray of sweat
familiar in a way older than the first night people fucked.

 

Here come the waves.
Eyes go back and forth down dark streets.
The leaves blow
                         stop
                   blow
            back
                        to the moon.

When the thunder grumbles
the sirens follow
often to the wrong address.
And so back again.

“here come the waves.”
says the veteran at the local lions club.
Watching the news,
beer in his glass makes waves
as he sets it down.

Here come the waves
550 miles away
calling my name.
The missing ingredient in God’s bloody mary.

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