keeping the peace
i’m doing my laundry
listening to mp3 music
through my earphones
as i try to lessen the dull
pain of wasting 90 minutes
of my life i’ll never get back
i notice a middle aged
black couple nearby
doing the dance couples
do when they fold the sheets
always a sexy combo
of footwork and movement
i feel like a voyeur sneaking
peeks while hoping i don’t
get caught in the act
but then i notice besides
their intricate laundromat
ballet they are also arguing
their lips are moving fast
words become flying knives
arrows shoot from their eyes
i lower my gaze
respecting the privacy
of lovers duking it out
in a public place
the next hour is long
and awkward as i turn up
the volume so AC/DC
can mute their voices
i’m oblivious now
as i sort the wet clothes
what to throw in the dryer
and what to hang dry
so i’m caught by surprise
when i look in their direction
and see them staring at me
then quickly returning to
folding their clothes
in a hurry to pack up
and leave
i realize i have
my black jock strap in my hands
the one i just ordered
through the internet
it has little metallic studs
along the waistband
i seem to remember
it was called the Terminator
or was it the Tempter-nator?
anyway i’m going to surprise
my girlfriend with it
the couple that was fighting
are giving me weird looks
as they head out the door
together
legacy
what will they say of us
our great-great-great grandkids
reviewing internet searches
of their ancestors
finding proof of lascivious
taboos entwined with
photos of what we
ate for breakfast
on 5/26/2013
cursing our names while
they kill or try to avoid
being killed for a sip
of brackish lukewarm water
washing away the dust clinging
to dry hoarse throats that
will never sing
dark lungs sucking in thick brown air
as corroding frames of rusted metal
are scattered like mechanical remains
along the rutted roadsides
in this land where they are
born in debt but are free
to pick how they will spend
a lifetime working it off
how does the rumor of the sky smell when the blue of the water sings?
the sky smells when the rumors sing
about the life and death of women and men
frantically walking the roads and alleys
looking for redemption
redemption rumors of any kind as long
as they are sky blue and soft green
and the pinkish orange of the Sandia Mountains
when the New Mexico sunset sheds its warm
light on its foothills and mad crazy people
walk through Nob Hill collecting cigarette
butts to light up and the cops cruise
Central looking for a free donut
the waters sing but the sky screams
we all want a piece of heaven
but we have to visit hell first
Richard Vargas earned his B.A. at Cal State University, Long Beach, where he studied under Gerald Locklin and Richard Lee. He edited/published five issues of The Tequila Review, 1978-1980, and twelve issues of The Mas Tequila Review from 2010-2015. Vargas received his MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Mexico, 2010, where he workshopped his poems with Joy Harjo. A sixth book, The Screw City Poems, will be released in July 2025, Roadside Press. He currently resides in Wisconsin, near the lake where Otis Redding’s plane crashed. https://www.richardvargaspoet.com/
