Two Poems
J. Michael Wahlgren


I do not believe I belong here
In the company of such thieves;

Such is lies, a pocketful
Of monies just waiting to be spent

On something more peculiar
Than ourselves. I ask

For a tip and you tell me
To lose the stranger part

Of me. My insides crumble
In Doric fashion, a dress

Hiked up lingers on a rack.
You’re talking behind my back.

Poem in which hinge is incorporated as a concept

They fairly come undone
To a song-like winter
While swings barely make
Use. Those dolts are like hinges
On a broken cabinet,
Useful but in knots.
Call them bolts on a lie.