by Milton P. Ehrlich
WHAT AM I WAITING FOR?
I can no longer tell the day of the week
or recall what I had for breakfast
or remember Sacco and Vanzetti?
I watch a fly zigzag on my window
struggling to find a way outdoors.
I keep looking at the clock on the wall
waiting for this long day to be over.
I rock back and forth in a rocking chair
with my black Burmese cat on my lap.
I chew tobacco like a cow chewing its cud
while humming songs from the 1930’s.
I must be waiting for a bus or a train—
but I don’t know where I’m going
or who might be coming with me.
I’m told I’ll be the first to find out.
I just hope they bring my spittoon.
THE UNDERGROUND POET’S REPORT
We would all feel more alive—live in the enormous present
with remarkable attentiveness if we were all a little Black.
The enemy of the people may be Whitey,
digitalized nerds—deadened, gum-chewing vibe-suckers
who are flat-footed and reek of halitosis.
They play with a loaded deck, use counterfeit money,
and secretly invade our privacy.
I have no use for “data voodoo dolls”—tech doesn’t know,
the sun’s a star and will not rise forever.
Hold on to your hat for the ride of a lifetime.
Milton P. Ehrlich Ph.D. is an 88-year-old psychologist and a veteran of the Korean War. He has published poems in, The Antigonish Review, London Grip, Arc Poetry Magazine, Descant Literary Magazine, Wisconsin Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Christian Science Monitor, and the New York Times.