Five Poems
by Philip Venzke
Overripe Banana
The vagabond woman howled,
after landing her peanut affected heel
on an acorn left by a mischievous squirrel,
and that overly extended siren wail
was so loud it woke up the over-ripe banana
hibernating on a cigarette encrusted sidewalk.
Now forced awake, the banana spreads
its black leathery wings, jettisons its rotting fruit,
breaks gravity’s will, and on its first, and only, short flight,
discovers that sonar just might be illegal in that state,
and, as it alights atop the dimming street lamp,
concludes: “echolocation never returns my calls.”
Unspilled Milk
What is it about
empty milk cartons
that you don’t like?
They can be used again.
I can stockpile them
in my secret closet.
Saved, for that day
in the ideal future,
when I have the time.
And in that perfect moment
I’ll build an elevator
from the hoarded cartons.
When it is complete,
I’ll drop the door key
down the shaft.
That will force them
to take the stairs,
because no one
with a failed nose
will dismantle those cartons.
I can change the past.
Out of Joint
Somehow,
the dust in my eyes
made your nose bend.
If I winked my left eye,
your nose moved right.
If I winked my right eye
your nose moved left.
And each time
I’d case the joint
you’d ignite your eyes
until I became a slug
hiding from the sun.
Then, you had your clan
encircle me.
Their teeth bearded red.
Circumscribed,
my heart turned to wax
then melted
and dripped into my legs.
I tried to hide from you
by removing my limbs,
but I was still detectable.
Flaming tongues
shot from your mouth.
They perforated my skin.
Finally,
to blow this pitiful joint,
I fused into water
and escaped
down the drain.
After Ma Bell There Was The Hunchback
Quasimodo dials the number again and hears the steady buzz of a busy signal. He is certain that Desdemona is in her tower. The phone continues to ring as he races off. He finds a phone cord wound around her neck. The plastic handle dangles by her side. He unwinds the cord and hears his own voice: “Why can’t you hear me?” He flings the phone out of the tower and embraces her hand as he melts into a hunch. As he dies, the flattened phone rings. It glows on the wet grass like an irradiated bell.
Ringing in the Memories
I go to bed
comforted by the electric hum
of the pseudo-candle;
the cod perfume of her womb
fading from my sheets
and the alarm clock cowering
like a radiant tombstone.
BIO: Philip Venzke grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. His poetry is widely published in magazines throughout the U.S. and Europe. His chapbook “Chant to Save the World” was a winner of The James Tate International 2021 Poetry Prize (published July 2022 by SurVision Books, Ireland). His second chapbook “Rules to Change the World” was published by Finishing Line Press in November 2023. His poems also appear in “Contemporary Surrealist and Magical Realist Poetry (an International Anthology)” edited by Jonas Zdanys, Lamar University Press, 2022.