Ivan Kuharic Poems

They’re So Lost Out There

They’re so lost out there.

There are people who are hungry and people who are old.

Criminals and junkies, and people doing as they’re told.

People watching ships go out, dollars coming in.

They’re so lost out there.

Got women on the hustle, men on the dime, Honest people getting harder to find.

Princes and ministers sipping tonic and gin,

Plenty of pious people being deported again.

Too many innocent lives ruined by sin— Nobody ever told them there’s a cost when you win.

They’re so lost out there.

There’s talk of a war, folks biding their time, No one’s got answers, just riddles in rhyme.

Everybody’s wondering if God’s on their side.

They’re so lost out there.

Distractions are in vogue, but reactions are vague.

Preachers preach hate, taxpayers plead, Politicians won’t pay for the peace that we need.

They’re so lost out there.

They want men on the moon, football games.

They say stay in your place, pull up your bootstraps, Don’t talk about race.

Nobody pays any attention—

They all got a phone for their affection, Or a screen in their face. No matter where things are headed,

Nobody’s got any direction.

They’re so lost out there

Pacifier Pacifier

How you gonna pacify me Will you send me a headline or make me feel afraid How about medication so I don’t go insane

Oh pacifier pacifier

What will you give me today Maybe a plane crash or another distraction

I’ll see some story or I’ll see a post

You’ll study my reaction

While I’m scrolling your feed

Pacifier Pacifier

You don’t want me to succeed

Conflict in the east

Fire in the west Divide and confuse— that’s what you do best Pacifier Pacifier

You love the -ISMS-

Like race and sex

Twist them around—

Keep us perplexed

But there’s one that you hate

One you despise

It’s called Pacifism

Ain’t that the truth

Pacifier Pacifier

You’re evil—I cannot deny

There’s nothing to defend

Not one of your lies

Pacifier Pacifier— your rule is through

Pacifier Pacifier— you’ve had your due

Pacifier it’s time to depose

Dixie

He cast meat down

By the cotton

Where the sun won’t shine

For a hundred years— And laid the tired flag down

To burrow for the winter.

Then went out looking

For honest men,

But left his eyes

Pickling in a jar—

They hung an anvil

In the village square,

That night the noose Swayed in the air.

Saddles thrown down

Along with the horse shoe’s luck,

Men set fire to the highways

And nailed noses

Above the door frames.

He looked away

Beyond the fence posts,

Where the land was

Roaring out,

Looking down at those

Tallow hands

With only lamplight

For a railing.

He shed his skin

Into the sand and whispers,

Ran toward nothing,

Past the place

Behind the wind.

Stagger Lee

10/7

I remember one October, a cold and rainy day,

Stagger Lee came strutting in from the land of Canaan.

There was a price to pay just then; Billy Delyon looked past his olive tree.

Chorus:

Oh, Stagger Lee, oh, Stagger Lee, You’ve done wrong again. Oh, Stagger Lee, oh, Stagger Lee, Give back poor Billy’s land. Stack had Billy up against the wall,

But Billy stood proud, tall.

He stared Stagger Lee in the eyes and said,

“I’ll fight for my freedom, Stack, even on my knees.”

Chorus

Stagger Lee, with his rifle raised high,

Couldn’t kill poor Billy, who watched his people die.

Chorus

Billy raised the flag, green, red, black, and white,

While Stagger Lee looked ahead and said,

“All this is mine,”

As stolen ground washed clean in the rain.

Chorus

And it begs the question: how can they arrest

Everybody but old Stagger Lee?

 The Immigrant

I used to sell flowers on the street,

Trying to cancel the debt.

Then I laid brick— Now I sell ice cream in the park,

Melting in my hand

Like a white surrender flag.

I owe the coyote, Feet never resting

Since I left Ecuador.

La deuda, la deuda—The debt.

I sell ice cream for the coyote,

Holding on to home.

Mi tía said,

“You can’t afford to be shy.”

So I keep going,

Her words in my mind:

“Sobrino, don’t hesitate to get yours.” Travelin’ Dust

Laying in a pool of blood,

Last payment made in Bangor, Maine

Before running shows in the mid-Atlantic.

Drifting along imaginary lines

No one dared to cross.

One phone call later,

And I’m standing in the dust.

Competition sinks to the bottom of the river.

The American dream is a shared popcorn box.

The top guys have vision— Things can’t remain the same. But business kept moving to the back rooms

With the men who smoke cigars.

New Years

Fireworks split the sky last night,

But daylight brought the same old gray.

Just a little storm on New Years— Ain’t nothing gonna stop the rain.

I haven’t felt right since November,

All those heavy footsteps catching up to me.

They say this is the time to be together,

But things have never been so divorced.

And those men above the law

Are making sure that it’s never enforced.

Just a little storm on New Years— My smile that you see is forced. Yesterday, I saw a street performer Contorting on the pavement.

I thought, This is how I feel, But this is what she wants. Look at the headlines: there’s blood On Bourbon Street. Now they’ll say, Pray for peace, But only when the war is won.

Just a little storm on New Years— I’m watching as the world’s undone.

Sobriety

I traded out my cocaine for coffee,

But here I am, sitting at the bar,

Building toward the primal scream.

People around me seem A little strung out.

The glasses on the back shelf Are as lonely as they could be,

Waiting to be held.

So am I.

There’s a painter at the bar

Talking about crime— Crime and misdemeanors.

Had my fingers stuck In my pockets.

I’m confused About where I’m goin’.

I’m confused where I’ve been.

All dressed up,

But I feel naked.

Out into the night,

I lit a smoke

While a man spoke to himself.

I could relate. I felt a kinship

To these guys that sleep On the street.

The air bites me for free,

And the moon’s hanging on by a thread.

No sounds,

Just the rhythm of boots On concrete.

Maybe that’s enough,

Like a song

Sung off key.

Play It Again

I see you for all that you are—cheap incense and rasta wine.

Who are you wrapped up with, anyway?

My tired eyes just seem to dart every which way. I’m seeing everything but you— weaving, bobbing through the park at my leisure.

Boy, what a strong sunny day—afternoon shadows bumping around.

The trees are filled up with leaves, everything feels so fresh.

Why do I feel so empty?

And where could you be?

I threw out the earrings. I got you when I was away, chucked ’em right out the fucking window.

They’re probably sitting by the east bank without you.

Yeah, I’ve been better, and you know what? So what.

I took myself out to dinner the other night.

You would’ve loved it—nice place, it had class.

That’s more than I can say for you, anyway.

But it gets lonely, especially on these cold summer nights.

I miss the candles you used to keep by the bathtub. Now I’ve got nothing but the buzz from that shitty old bulb, which—yeah—I still haven’t replaced.

And the windowsill? It’s gotten so dusty,

but you know I’ve never had the discipline to keep up with stuff like that.

It’s been lonely, sure, but I stick it out.

I joined a reading group, some kinda social justice thing.

Not great for finding a chick, but I guess I’m learning. I made room in my busy schedule of watching TV and masturbating to make it to the jazz club on Tuesday nights.

God, all this seems so pathetic.

What could you be up to?

Probably some pretentious avant-garde performance, art entirely focused on your eye shadow, just hoping everyone is staring at you.

Which they are.

It’s just not your eyes. God, you’re not even here, and all my worst insecurities are tumbling out. I re-enrolled in the university, and yes, I heard you graduated.

My condolences, I guess.

Now you’ll have to find a purpose.

Oh, and by the way, I got three years clean next month.

Not that I think you’d care.

What did I do to you exactly in the first place?

Treat me like a fuckin’ monster, or worse—like I don’t exist. Maybe I could’ve paid more attention, or learned to drive, instead of hanging around all day ’til it was time to smoke or go for a walk.

Sure, I was broke at the time. Dead broke. God, we could have worked through it all… You just liked a cheap thrill.

I think the worst part is how much I get it.

God, I’m an arrogant prick.

Nothing but a big ego and an even bigger mouth.

Still, after all the bullshit, I look around for you. Like when I’m on the bus— some poof of hair or a frilly, lacy thing might catch my eye, and I frequently hope it’s you. Or sometime, I’ll catch a glimpse of that big bug of yours, bumbling through traffic.

I’ve seen your work, though.

Hanging over the rim of a thousand cups of coffee. Guess it’s just my luck your stuff gets featured in my usual haunts.

Shit, I introduced you to half those fuckin’ places. I wished you’d have said something that time I happened to see you in the alley behind the pizza place. You just stood there, all bugged out like a deer in headlights.

Then again, I probably looked like a ghost.

My hair all shaggy.

I lost some weight.

Anyway, all this riffin’ about the past isn’t doing me any favors.

I guess what we had was a lot like a bad horn solo— everyone is happier when the case is shut. Problem is, I just get in these moods where all I wanna do is try and play it again.