Brian Rihlmann

Poetry

 

 

An Understanding 

 

methinks I need a cat...

and not some overly affectionate breed—

whichever those are—

but some big black beast of a thing

barely fit to be around humankind

male, of course

and with his balls intact

 

I’ll let him out at night

and he’ll return at dawn 

smelling of dumpsters 

and kitty twat

maybe licking some fresh wounds

 

his eyes won’t lie 

they’ll look at me

without pretense

or affectation 

 

and at the world

like what it mostly is:

a huge nuisance

an imposition upon nap time

 

he and I 

will understand each other

perfectly 

 

he’ll develop a nasty habit 

of refusing the cat box

and taking dumps

on my pillow instead

 

and if I go first

he won’t whine like a dog

or wait for days to eat me

until my corpse 

stinks up the house

 

he’ll start in

while I still breathe

I’ll forgive him too

quicker than any human

that’s for sure

 

 

 

The View from the Arena

 

go on...

give them some of that good advice

now that you’re drowning in it yourself

show them how gracefully 

you thrash to the other side

when the only thing

that keeps you

grabbing handfuls of water

is rage

 

give them your words of wisdom now

smart guy

“relax...go easy on yourself”

all that stuff

tell them to talk to someone 

shout it at them

through your locked door

 

tell them to focus on something 

outside the noise and the swirl

a face in the crowd

a flower

a car horn

when all you hear

is the static 

of a long highway

between radio stations 

 

show them how to

“just breathe”

like you do

with your head

in the lion’s mouth

 

 

 

There Was No Need

 

he’d grown 

into a bitter old bastard

so i threw a bit of meanness 

back at him

and he winced, said

“didn’t anyone ever teach you

to respect your elders boy?”

 

i reminded him

“this is America...

we don’t give a shit

about our elders here.”

 

i could’ve reminded him

how he warehoused 

his own mother

in a sterile white place

never visited her

and then stuck her

unceremoniously 

in the family plot

with the rest 

of their orphaned bones

 

but from the look 

on his face

i could see

there was no need

 

 

 

You Never Know 

 

lovers lie back to back

in a dark bedroom 

a foot of bedsheet between them

his and hers phones aglow

 

mom and dad 

sit on the sofa

swiping and tapping 

oblivious of the bouncing toddler

jingling dad’s keys

in their faces

 

a woman 

in a black teddy

exits the bathroom

leans seductively against 

the door jamb 

as he stiffens inside his boxers 

while gazing at her more obedient 

and relatable facsimile 

in the palm of his hand 

 

we shake our heads

sadly at these sins

then commit them ourselves 

 

thus...

i can only conclude 

that we’ve finally found 

what we’ve been looking for

 

a way to avoid each other

a way not to deal 

with each other’s 

needs and demands

and all the bullshit sob stories

self deceptions

and self pity

 

a way not to listen to them bitch

about their day at work

and ramble on about the same shit

over and over

 

who wants that anyway?

 

nobody has the stomach for that anymore 

 

break up with your girlfriend in person?

or even on the phone?

 

fuck that

 

squirm out of it

text

then block

done

so much easier

no yelling and screaming 

or throwing things

having the neighbors

call the cops

 

fuck all this talk

of real 

genuine 

human connection 

 

we want to be entertained 

and distracted

as much as possible 

for the hours to float by

in a pleasant haze

like any drunk

or addict

 

to be rid of this nasty experience 

we call time

the slow screech 

or unbearable silence of it

as quickly as possible

flush it like a stinking turd

then express bewilderment 

on our death beds

with the standard

“where did it all go?”

 

but....

 

wouldn’t it be ironic

if this separation 

is what ultimately saves us?

 

we’ll all be too self absorbed

too device-bewitched 

and distracted

to care enough

to fight anymore 

 

some future president 

without looking up from his phone

will say to an advisor:

“they did what? 

oh...well...that’s ok

they can have it

it used to be theirs anyway...”

 

a war averted 

through tech addiction

 

you never know

 

 

Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi-autobiographical, confessional free verse. Folk poetry...for folks. He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, The Rye Whiskey Review and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal of Poetry.