#319

2 poems by Craig Kurtz
Lover’s Tussle
I won’t kiss you ’til we quarrel;
I want to know that you fight fair
and strong and long, with love;
so the worst of you accords
with your best that I adore.
Let us tussle, then rebound
refreshed for tempests
much more kind,
not less profound.

Pessimist’s Utopia
It began with my shoelaces
breaking in the morning;
then the clock went stop
insuring I’d be late;
of course, without an umbrella
it monsooned every injured step;
& this is how I found my way
to the pessimist’s utopia.

Then I had long lines to find
the noonday train got left behind;
there were many forms to sign
to let me know roadblocks exist;
but the best part was the fine print in full
claiming the swindle was authorized by me;
& this is how I found the door
to hell on earth, or something worse.

The cellphone’s dead,
the dinner’s cold,
my socks are wet,
the checks all bounce;
the lights won’t start,
the record skips,
it’s Shangri-La
for masochists (& bureaucrats).

The buzzing sound that I ignored
soon provoked a gas leak smell;
when I thought that I arrived
I saw my keys were locked inside;
the moment that my chance came near
the staples jammed, the crock pot cracked;
then I knew I’d rest in peace, in this
utopia for pessimists. Art by Larissa Eremeeva
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