Two Poems

by Mark Belair

your brain stem at 4 a.m.

suspecting

you’re an extra in your life / others play the leading roles / your credit at the end

will read / waiter #4

remembering

sirens stuck in traffic / heavy rain snarling the subway / its track signals shorted out /

then even though the storm ghosted away / the mired sirens remained in the dream

that woke you / a dream of being tracked through a flooded subway / by an old / snarling

signalman / brandishing a short / live wire / though you don’t know why / and don’t know

what to do / so call for rescuers who / it felt so real / never arrive

thinking

they know when to tip / they track their favors / on sight they know what an approaching man wants

they know how to dress / when to flatter or snub / on sight they know what an approaching woman likes

they can whistle for cabs / talk sports and cars / self-doubts they drown with a drink and a smoke

they are men of the world / men you despise and admire / as you do yourself / for being not what they are / and all they are not

remembering

that once / as a trusting child / you heard birds cheeping madly / in a dense hedge but /

peer in as you might / you couldn’t see a one / nor could you hear one clarion call / within

the bird-babble / despite the trimmed / adult appearance of the hedge

 seeing

swirling snow out the dark window / dressing the wind / in a glittering ballroom gown / wind

that dances on after a costume change into leaves / that whirl away in a striptease / that discloses

the stilled body of the night

hoping

you’ll finally slip toward sleep / by imagining your body / on the body of these random

ruminations / each feather-light but / bound together / a feather bed and feather pillow /

that can take the weight of your head

THE CAROUSEL

Do not use horse hooves

as step or footrest,

reads a sign by a carousel,

their galloping legs

where old, carved wooden horses

easily break.

Even a climbing child—

spinning dreams

of the galloping ride

ahead—

could snap one

clean

as a broken, unspooling

dream.

BIO: Mark Belaire’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Alabama Literary Review, Harvard Review, and Michigan Quarterly Review. Author of seven collections of poems, his most recent books are two works of fiction: Stonehaven (Turning Point, 2020) and its sequel, Edgewood (Turning Point, 2022). Mark has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize multiple times, as well as for a Best of the Net Award. Please visit www.markbelair.com.