No Contest by Vaughan Gunson

we eye each other up on the beach, a stand-off at fifty paces (or some twenty years): Perk n’ Proud             versus Slightly Saggy. I fall back, your round. we catch each other’s eye again as I stagger bent & small carrying four towels, three surfboards,             two buckets, & one ball. your legs stand further apart like a tripod, surveying the crowd. we dare to eye each other’s girl. one wears a bikini, the other a very practical beach top. you think you’ve done me again, but I know I’m in the game. leaving, we look each other’s way, as you lower yourself, shirt off, into the seat of your car & I wearily climb up into mine. both proud, a glint of respect. I think of you once more tonight after making love, better than it was twenty years ago. there’s no pride, no envy, just maybe the hard firm control             of wisdom growing.

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none of that by Vaughan Gunson

I try to stuff it down this poetry thing the light of a child, a rainbow stretched to black it wants everything if it could if it might be good,                                      which is always in doubt like leaving home, leaving to follow the stars across the Pacific always in doubt. it’s been said before, & once more: it’s not the time for poetry (when has there been a time?) we need something braver, something harder                                      —poetry can be a wayward & glorious coward & you can take one too many steps over the body in the street, the street where there are no camellias planted none of that.

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our dog is like Frank O’Hara by Vaughan Gunson

our dog is like Frank O’Hara      lover of gregarious freedom! we don’t want to train him — he’s untrainable half wild, like a Coltrane solo he takes free rein, takes it where it will go he barks at everyone he sees     with no malice he just wants to say hello & tell everyone     he loves them he can jump up in the air in crazy yelping pirouettes he’s a bit of a show-off he’s too quick footed for the big slow dogs who can’t pin him down     there’s no easy walk trotting along beside in regular rhythm it’s all full tilt, nose down, tail up, pulling forward choking against the collar — sudden stops deviations     instant enthusiasms abandoned for the next delicious scent     tiring & exhilarating, like keeping up with Peter when his brain’s exploding T.S.Elliot mixed with obscenities he sleeps close to us on the bed any noise, 2am, 5am, & he’ll leap off & run around barking in circles     it’s idiotic & pisses us off he wants to lick your ears in the morning loves it when you scratch his head he hardly eats, but likes to clean your plate flies annoy him    (he’s mostly content) he escapes often, being small & agile always finding a new way to get out we’re lucky he hasn’t been hit by a car we would miss him a lot      because he’s full of the genius of life our dog a destroyer of shallow boredom like Frank O’Hara.

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