Two Poems by Ben Nardolilli

Under the Soaking Bulb

Summer is a chafing along, rough necks in bloom
spreading under every collar, see the harvest:
dry patches of red, and the hot cloth digging, digging
but never hitting anything wet

Every other part offers up its ruby glare under sweat,
some smell bad, but these rosy rings
look the worst, petals peeling away under a solar poke
and falling down shirts in an anemic blizzard

Cheers for the Non-Dead

An unfriendly brother, but still a brother, no real enemy
just a figure trading one patch of sidewalk
for another, no obstacle to anyone’s way, barely even a shadow

No bridge in my hands, no span in my legs except to make
movements happen down the avenue,
I can smile, if someone wants that theater to unfold tonight

Otherwise, seamless maneuvers follow, with connections
left behind for others who want to collect,
if they want them, fine, but there will be no surrendering links