Patrick Erickson

Poetry

 

 

 

AI

 

An assembly line robot

grabs an assembly line worker

and twists him into

an automotive part

 

And because

he doesn’t bend

he breaks

 

Are you going

to charge the robot

with murder

 

or chalk it up

to malware

 

workplace mischief

and mayhem

 

industrial sabotage?

 

An assembly line robot

crushes an assembly line worker

like a trash compactor

 

Who’s going to

take out the trash

 

the robot

 

your pet drone?

 

 

 

Collateral Damage

 

Your own personal war

fought with rubber soldiers

I suppose

 

to give maximum bounce

and terminal velocity

to mortal combat

 

Bullets

bounce off of them

 

They stand up

to both hostile

and friendly fire alike

 

And they’re durable

in the face of IEDs

and RPGs

 

I suppose

they won’t come home

in body bags

or bedridden with PTSD

either

 

But come home they will

your sons and daughters

 

casualties of war

and collateral damage.

 

 

 

Jaundice

 

An amber red tinge

 

like the amber red tinge

of the sea

of an evening

 

a sailor’s delight

 

I’d say

like nicotine

or iodine

 

if seasickness

were toxic

or antiseptic

 

And would it were

 

and not rather

symptomatic

 

the amber red tinge

to the eyes and skin

 

like blood in the water

before a feeding frenzy

 

and no amber alert.

 

 

 

Carnal Knowledge

 

Freed

from the fleshpots

 

but not their thrall

their allure

 

you return thanks

and return thereto

ever and again

 

though they contain

naught but uncleanness

 

and all manner

of filth

 

naught

but the froth and broth of fools

 

and their carnal knowledge

 

ever tepid

 

and never new.

 

 

 

Apparition

 

There is a depth

to perception

 

And appearances

can be deceiving

 

Those who flaunt

good looks

are called superficial

 

Those who exploit

illusion

 

illusionists

 

Optical illusions occur

when your eyes

play tricks on you

 

ghosts and mirages

when the thing itself

plays tricks on your eyes

 

Whether the prize exists

in the eyes of the beholder

or in the thing itself

 

depends on whether

you are a prize pupil

 

or merely a stooge

 

a mirage or a ghost.

 

 

 

Patrick Erickson, a resident of Garland, Texas, a Tree City, just south of Duck Creek, resonates to a friend's definition of change (albeit a bit dated): change coming at us a lot faster because you can punch a whole lot more, a whole lot faster down digital broadband "glass" fiber than an old copper co-axial landline cable. Secretariat is his mentor, though he has never been an over-achiever and has never gained on the competition.

 

Patrick's work has appeared in Danse Macabre; Wilderness House Literary Review; Cobalt Review; Poetry Pacific; Red Fez; Poetry Quarterly; among other publications, and will appear in Burningword Literary Journal; Former People; Crack the Spine, Tipton Poetry Journal and Futures Trading and in the Fall 2015 issue of The Penwood Review.