Mondo Zen
Craig Kirchner
Cruising, really cruising, hard-on cruising,
in the most material thing, I’ve known -
’66 mustang -289,
navy blue, white convertible top
and leather, wooden steering wheel.
Brand new from Dad for your 16th,
I’m hoping that makes you 18 now.
Poets are better at lying,
than telling the truth,
and you are the Master.
Your most damning tone,
you are for sure pissed.
Sitting there in your bucket seat,
Audrey Hepburn with blue eyes,
lotus style, neck straight,
hands in your lap.
The fingers of the right hand
resting lightly on the fingers of your left,
thumbs just barely touching.
A perfect ‘mudra’
and I wonder where you picked that up.
We had just come from ‘2001’,
heading to the neighborhood bar,
a shot of bourbon and a cold beer.
What do you think the monolith represents?
I ask, interested, but feeling like
I’m breaking ice since we left the bijou.
All right, we did your movie,
and now you’re taking me to a bar?
I thought we were going to the mountains,
and watch the sun rise. You know,
she says – like she does –
compartmentalization is responsible for
the spiritual vacuity of people today.
Rationalization, and your need for a drink
seem to take precedence over everything.
still in her zazen pose,
and presumably the result of
some enlightenment.
I mull this over,
but not too much,
Let’s get back to the poet thing,
I slam on the brakes, master of something,
and you open your eyes.
You should learn not to mix metaphors,
and your Zen is bullshit.
The bald, gay Buddha bobble head,
you know the one with teeth like Martha Raye,
bouncing like crazy on the dash
seemed to adamantly agree with me.
Cruising, really cruising, hard-on cruising,
in the most material thing, I’ve known -
’66 mustang -289,
navy blue, white convertible top
and leather, wooden steering wheel.
Brand new from Dad for your 16th,
I’m hoping that makes you 18 now.
Poets are better at lying,
than telling the truth,
and you are the Master.
Your most damning tone,
you are for sure pissed.
Sitting there in your bucket seat,
Audrey Hepburn with blue eyes,
lotus style, neck straight,
hands in your lap.
The fingers of the right hand
resting lightly on the fingers of your left,
thumbs just barely touching.
A perfect ‘mudra’
and I wonder where you picked that up.
We had just come from ‘2001’,
heading to the neighborhood bar,
a shot of bourbon and a cold beer.
What do you think the monolith represents?
I ask, interested, but feeling like
I’m breaking ice since we left the bijou.
All right, we did your movie,
and now you’re taking me to a bar?
I thought we were going to the mountains,
and watch the sun rise. You know,
she says – like she does –
compartmentalization is responsible for
the spiritual vacuity of people today.
Rationalization, and your need for a drink
seem to take precedence over everything.
still in her zazen pose,
and presumably the result of
some enlightenment.
I mull this over,
but not too much,
Let’s get back to the poet thing,
I slam on the brakes, master of something,
and you open your eyes.
You should learn not to mix metaphors,
and your Zen is bullshit.
The bald, gay Buddha bobble head,
you know the one with teeth like Martha Raye,
bouncing like crazy on the dash
seemed to adamantly agree with me.
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Craig Kirchner thinks of poetry as hobo art, loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He has had two poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a hiatus he was recently published in Decadent Review, and several dozen other journals.
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