Ron Slate Poems

I predict, like the one who was sucked to sea
and returned in an Arabian container ship,
all small worlds will be dashed and drowned.
...

Invented by the British to annoy
the French, so said De Gaulle.
The Belgians are rude but live to please,
...

I remember my mother squeezing
the camembert. She bought it five days
...

Feather duster in a child's grip
swished over bottles of Old Grand-Dad
in my father's liquor store,
...

This morning the peso is free-floating
above the unstable world of Borges.
He knew Buenos Aires was not a city
to die in. Geneva was that much closer
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This is the face of one returning,
distracted by something not present.
Unreceptive to the old proposition.
...

The idea was not to seek him
but simply to glance up from the eggplant
at the Fruit Center and find him with a list.
...

City hospital on one hill,
city dump on the other. Heat lightning
strafed the night between them.
...

If there's a crack of thunder
without an attending rumble,
a great man is about to die.
...