Places, Faced Alone
Two Poems by Joseph Roque
Curtain Call
Every day’s uproar is really
just a weak-kneed whisper.
Hearing is selective─
anything left over no one hears;
no one cares about.
Concern becomes generic and uninspired,
we are tired of the tragedies that stalk us
from birth, force on us a private pain wrapped
in public pageantry, our uniforms remorse,
worn on cue, easily removed and washed,
put away until our next curtain call.
Eventually, all our ceremonies end, time
insists its way forward, unapologetic,
pushes us out of the way, toward that
strange place we face alone─
a thousand questions on our lips,
begging for answers.
Becoming New
Some days,
I’d like to trade
myself in for someone new;
someone capable and stable;
still know
who I was
and who I become.
Won’t ignore past mistakes,
I need them to remind me
what not to say or do
so I won’t
completely ruin the new me.
Joe’s poems have appeared in Psychopoetica, Mad Swirl, Aphelion, Death Head Grin,
The Poet’s Haven, RagMag, and Cerebration. His latest book is Ashes And Excuses.
