Two Poems from Rustin Larson

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Slap

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It was confusing.  It’s

like getting on the wrong

bus and arriving at the

wrong school.  It will take

a morning of frantic phone

calls for your mom to find

you.  And then you still

might get a slap.

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Well, it’s October now and I

still don’t care about baseball.

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I feel maybe someone will give

me cartoonist trouble, holding

my life together with aspirin

and duct tape.  The fish

of words will swim through all

the paper.  Thanksgiving

is exactly the same up there,

except in October, and they

are still loyal to the Queen.

It’s like getting on the wrong

bus and arriving at the wrong

school.

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Now, I have a handful of

believers.  The globe shakes

its oceans off onto the table,

and it is a wonder we

construct mail boxes out of

milk cartons; we send each

other Halloween greetings and

teeth like Indian corn.  Who

am I, your mommy?  Do

you want me to wipe your

ass?  The dirty man leaves

the telephone book alone.  We

get on the bus, relieved.  It’s

the wrong bus.

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Bats and Spiders

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I think I covered most of

the topics.  Not a lot has

happened to me.  I guess you

would say I’m a boring man.

I feel fortunate.  To be

honest, there are people I

detest, but they’ll get no

press here.  Bats and spiders

are in the air.  “Your

mother would never have

aborted you,” says my aunt.

Things like that get me

thinking.

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The dead hand massages the

head of the spider and

the spider shivers.  The chimes ring,

“Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.”

It is now 6:30

on the same day.  I forget

what plans I had.  I’m letting

it all ferment.  It is a

fine wine we have.  I couldn’t

tell you what the story was if

I tried.

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The violin teacher came to the door

and looked at me sadly.  She

handed me the sheet music you

had forgotten at your lesson.

The love seat we had thrown

out of the house had been

removed from the curb.  All

the juices were being sucked

downward.  The witch’s hand

felt in her shaggy purse for

a coin.  We all had to live,

ya know.

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Rustin Larson’s poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, The Iowa Review, North American Review, Poetry East, The Atlanta Review and other magazines. Crazy Star was selected for the Loess Hills Book’s Poetry Series in 2005. Larson won 1st Editor’s Prize from Rhino magazine in 2000 and has won prizes for his poetry from The National Poet Hunt and The Chester H. Jones Foundation among others. A five-time Pushcart nominee, and graduate of the Vermont College MFA in Writing, Larson was an Iowa Poet at The Des Moines National Poetry Festival in 2002 and 2004, a featured writer in the DMACC Celebration of the Literary Arts in 2007, 2008, and has been highlighted on the public radio programs Live from Prairie Lights and Voices from the Prairie. He lives in Fairfield, Iowa.

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