Tuesday, 5 May 2026

3 Poems by Charlie Brice

 Two Trains Running


                                    With gratitude to August Wilson

                                    and Mark Clayton Southers

 

Wrapped in Kevlar he looked larger

            than he was, though

gracious, magnanimous.

He let me know he could have

            towed my van,

            arrested me.

 

Today he’d cut me a break.

            I moved the van,

            the bus could pass,

people could get home from church.

 

In the rush to get my wheelchaired

            wife out of the van,

            into the theater,

I hadn’t noticed the NO PARKING sign.

 

We’d been shut-ins

            first from COVID

            then from legs-don’t-work.

I wasn’t friends anymore with

            the blare and bluster

            of sun and street and traffic.

 

They stopped the play

            at Act 1, Scene 2, after

            Wilson’s oracular line:

When you get to be a saint

there ain’t nothing

else you can do but die.

 

The theater-man hand-patted my back—

            There’s a cop,

            there’s a bus;

it looks bad.

 

The cop let me go,

            because my wife’s crippled?

because we’re white?

 

Two trains are running,

            one for whites,

            one for blacks.

One travels north, the other south,

            cars old and rusty,

tracks worn out.

 


The Thing about Nature

 

It’s always okay.

 

A leaf doesn’t have a political party.

 

When a leopard breaks a gazelle’s neck

with its teeth, it’s not murder.

 

A flood forges a new path forward.

 

Blizzards coat the prairie like frosting on a cake.

 

No one knows where a waterfall lands

            when it falls.

 

A peony doesn’t believe in the death penalty.

 

Every fish swims with another fish.

 

Supernovas firework space/time.

 

The Milkey Way was there before

            we named it.

 

Particles appear, disappear, and reappear

            out of nowhere.

 

Densities explode.

 

Stars collapse all the time.

 

Everything starts over.

 

The Big Bang was just an intermission.

 

 

Birthday

 

What did Freud want for his birthday?

            A box of fresh Brazilian cigars?

            A new disciple who would never question him?

 

What about Plato?

            A glimpse past the cave’s opening?

            A ray of wisdom’s sun?

 

And Keats, what would he want for his big day?

            The perfect ode?

            His own ancient Grecian urn?

 

Would Mozart want a wild party, a good French wine,

            A lithe woman,

Or just the right notes?

 

As for me, I want pancakes—

            Specifically, pigs in a blanket

            At iHop.

 

The nature of truth,

            The perfect poem,

            Each line alive with meaning and brilliance,

 

Could never compete with those

            Juicy sausages swaddled by iHop’s classic cakes,

            Slathered by a lava-flow of their fake maple syrup.

 

364 days of the year I strive

            For excellence, search

            For truth, live the life of an earnest man.

 

On that one day, my birthday,

            I give way to the simple pleasures

            Of pork fat and griddle cakes.

 

The perfect notes never heard,

            The perfect ode never written

            The bright light of wisdom still engulfed by darkness,

 

But I have found the perfect breakfast.

            Even the examined life may not be worth living,

            But those flapjacks and sausages make it all worthwhile.


Bionote

Charlie Brice won the 2020 Field Guide Poetry Magazine Poetry Contest and placed third in the 2021 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Prize. His ninth full-length poetry collection is Tragedy in the Arugula Aisle (Arroyo Seco Press, 2025). His poetry has been nominated for the Best of Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in Atlanta ReviewThe Honest UlstermanIbbetson StreetChiron ReviewThe MacGuffin, and elsewhere.

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