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Ron Androla: Secret Poems
Part of the PoetryCircle Showcase series.
  • Trisha Is 9

    “Whatcha writing?” she questions
    After I tell her I will be writing
    Until the cats need fed. She
    Sits in the middle of barbie-land,
    Playing in her p.j.'s in barbie-land.
    She surely has over 50 barbies &
    Monster high dolls. Tons of clothes
    For them. Tons of barbie stuff. I look
    In her eyes, sip my coffee,
    & don't answer. What can
    I say. Her dad has left for
    Work. Ann is working, too. It's
    Us & the animals &
    Barbies today, plus this secret
    Poem. Trisha knows
    Grandpa doesn't play
    Barbies. I hear her
    Singing like a falsetto mother
    Inside her girly room.


    From the Kitchen Window

    Sparrows light on heaping sugar
    Branches I stick ripped
    Bread on top of our hedges
    Thinking subzero temperatures
    Poor fluffy birds
    Poor fluffy rabbits who live
    Across the alley
    Find crumbs in the snow
    I see wild cat tracks too
    The sparrows twitch
    In the frozen sunlight
    Eye me
    I stay still
    I am
    Graced by imagery
    I watch the
    Extend life



    Factory Exhaustion

    More than 30 years of this life
    I worked in Erie's factories.
    Sodomized, my bare back
    Splattered with boss vomit,
    I'd come home & drink
    Shitloads of bourbon & beer
    Until I cld smile again. I
    Don't work in a factory no
    More, & I don't want to
    Remember, nor mirror
    The strangulation in a
    Poem. I wrote it out
    As it occurred, which is
    Enough. I have lost
    Muscle & memory,
    Contact with Joe,
    All the money, blood confetti,
    Production production production,
    Office mantra, bushes of oily steam,
    Hydraulic cavitation, blown lines,
    Predawn fire in burn-barrels
    By the road, hard donuts, scabs
    Throwing us all the finger,
    The fight & the pain.


    Amerikan Medicine

    Pills wash with early lake waves
    From the HD television shore
    Eat no grapefruit plus
    Scissor testicle sack or
    Slit circular
    Breast to shove
    Pills thru spurting
    Hanging arterial blood
    After naked untreated
    Agony the pills blanket
    Wet, weeping mirrors
    Of the past little baby some
    Pills taste & smell
    Like breast milk memory
    There are diaper pills pills full of
    Fish guts pills produced from oak
    Yolk & chicken odor
    Pills as powerful as the fucking
    Moon pills prescribed
    For a repaired younger you
    O death the black pills
    To stop all pills & life extension
    Sanity—feast upon some red
    Pills delicate vulnerable zombie


    Forever My Love

    One of us, drunk,
    Always fucks up.
    I slip the blinds
    Back onto the kitchen
    Window—I clean
    Our counter, glasses,
    Bottles, cap opener,
    Corkscrew, an island of
    Red wine. I shake
    You to wake you.
    “Okay okay okay
    Already,” you mutter
    Tucked on the red couch.
    You have had a terrible day.
    Way too much overtime.
    Then the car battery
    Dies. The all-consuming
    Blizzard rages.
    Triple A with its 2
    Hour wait-time. Tho there in 1.
    A quick jump—I jump
    To the liquor store
    Since I'm sure you need
    A good drink, something with
    The strength to obliterate
    The hours, on, & off,
    The clock. Nobody's a
    Spring chicken, nobody
    Is innocent.
    I want to crack the
    Plastic half-gallon, vodka,
    Pure vodka in blue light,
    Vodka from Canada?
    Vodka from culpable Canada.
    It's noon, 2, 3, 4 more hours
    Until you. I'll be all
    Smashed & helpless
    With broken things. I love you.


    Woman in a Light Red Dress

    Live webcam in Chicago, I'm
    Dressed for sleep in another
    Erie night, but before I drift:
    Startling woman in a light red
    Dress, a very short dress, crosses
    The gallery taking pictures
    Of the paintings. She appears
    Like a Hiroshima symphony
    Sudden, total. Her long
    Dark hair, her gorgeous, soft
    Face, her ass, a jackhammer
    Insistence between my tubular eyes.
    She disappears from the camera.
    My wife coughs in our bedroom.
    The woman in a light
    Red, short, tight, shimmery
    Dress is in her 20's, a fascinating,
    Sweet, vulnerable girl. She returns
    & I watch an older rich bastard pull her
    Into a photo. Hooking her waist like
    Meat. The flash releases his
    Barbed catch.
    She spins on high heels
    & her arms are quick, repetitious
    Wings. She's smiling
    But I know the depth of her
  1. Tom Blessing
    Enjoyed these as I have enjoyed all of your work that I have read over the last 30 years.   Factory Exhaustion pretty much nails it.
    Jay Dougherty and Ron Androla like this.
  2. Anne Toothman
    I really love this it sets a spark it e ven has beautiful art so much technique!!!
    Ron Androla likes this.
  3. David Belcher
    "Factory Exhaustion" has punch, I thought, emotive, it has spark.
    Ron Androla likes this.
  4. Julia Schott
  5. Jon Klein
    I agree with Trish in that every poem here is fascinating in its own right. That comment, though, hides a concern: How or how well these piece coalesce as a unit. There's an entire debate around whether this should even be a consideration (and indeed in many full-length collections of poetry the relationship among the pieces is tenuous at best), but given the exigency of a title that wraps around a group of individual works, one comes to expect cohesion of some sort. "Secret Poems" is about as dismissive of the "cohesion" precept as is "Scattered Poems," though, so perhaps this works.
  6. Michael Ashley
    Yeah very nice work Ron!
    Ron Androla likes this.
  7. TrishSaunders
    Each poem is a fascination in itself. Ron, each different, but with yo ur unmistakable voice.
    Jon Klein and Ron Androla like this.
  8. Cheryl.Leverette
    Very happy to see this here.  Congratulations Ron.  Lovely art too.
    Ron Androla likes this.