Wayne F. Burke

Pearl Diver

by Wayne F. Burke

washing dishes at the Olympia Diner

across the street from the

college I live at, and

where I sometimes go to classes;

high on black beauties, Friday nights

after the bars closed,

lugging buckets of dishes from

front to back, the owner

John Papalopalopalopalopalus

calls me “lazy American” because

I do not sweep deep enough underneath the

counters. . . . His nephew, the “head” dishwasher,

tries to boss me around; the little prick

can do no wrong in his Uncle’s eyes: take hour-long

breaks, make wise-guy remarks. . . . One Saturday morning

the cigarette machine is found empty of cigarettes and

coins, and the cops arrest the nephew but

the Uncle will not prosecute or even fire the

kid, because

I guess,

blood is thicker than dishwater.

Black Summer

by Wayne F. Burke

I borrowed money from

whomever

would lend it to me

and without thought of

ever paying anyone

back;

I was living the Henry Miller

creed:

“I please myself.”

TROPIC OF CANCER my Bible,

it gave me license to screw

whomever, left and

right:

I sought liberation from convention

and restraint;

my cronies did not understand me

but

so what?

My apotheosis I thought imminent

elevation into the pantheon of

great artists only a matter of time.

I fought against prudery and

the bourgeoisie,

against the 8-hour workday and

5-day work week. . . .

I hung around bar rooms, mooching

drinks, and

giving advice to the

barflies

who, I knew

would be better off, happier

if only they would or could be

more like me; more like “Henry Miller”

too, whoever

he.

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of publications online and in print. He has published six full-length poetry collections, most recently Diflucan (BareBack Press, 2019). He lives in the Green Mountain State, aka Vermont (USA).