bob sheridan robert e. sheridan bronxville marquette times

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Bob

Poems

To hear "Yes," a recording of some of my poems, click here

O.k., o.k., o.k., o.k.
you win.

r.e.s. 1.15.06

Sleep

I went to bed with one thought
but I woke up in the middle of the
night and took the necessary steps
to cancel out the thought I had.

Like walking in my sleep

but acting.

And today I feel clean and safe,
and everybody says be careful,
think it through before you do it,
weigh the consequences, don’t be rash.

Well,

That’s not always how it works.

Your self is working even when
your conscious part is sleeping,
and you may not realize it but
your self will tell you what to do.

Just listen

r.e.s. 6.27.05

Separation

In my lifetime,
people just like me
decided
other people just like me
may not exist.

They took the other people’s
shoes,
hair,
glasses,
no, you won’t be needing these.

And later on, they took their
teeth.

The people just like me
say no, I don’t remember,
that was long ago,
besides,
what’s done is done,
we had no choice,
move on.

Well, go ahead, then,
please
don’t wait for me.

r.e.s. 6.2.05

Just Us

Are you out there watching, angel,
did you see me try tonight and fail, and
did it hurt or did you laugh, or what.

Please talk to me.

r.e.s. 6.26.05

Resurrection

In church today they read the names
of people who were sick, or dying,
and the names included mine, and
everybody said Lord hear our prayer.

And I thought, hmmmm, I wonder
if I’m on my deathbed somewhere,
I was dizzy last night, I remember
that, so could this be a dream?

I felt my family’s arms around me
when we promised peace, which
doesn’t happen in a dream, the
feeling part, so it was real, I think.

Besides, it’s Easter Sunday, and the
boys each had a basket and they
found their eggs outside, and there
were flowers on the dinner table.

And the baby stirred.

Amen.

r.e.s. 3.27.05

Music

There’s a program on the radio,
they play the music people liked
when mom and dad were Ev and Em
and everything was looking up, I guess.

Were those the days, or what.

I listen every week, I wonder why.
I wasn’t in the picture then, and yet
I might as well have been, the music
somehow makes me feel at home.

Philco on the table in the living room.

It’s empty now. They took one on a
stretcher, gave up on another, tried,
they said, and lost the third, and let
the others go, who cares, it’s over.

Vo doe de o vo doe doe de o doe.

r.e.s. 5.8.05

Date

I looked up,
and she was standing there
beside my desk. Remember me?
she said.

And I said yes, of course I do,
the state fair midway, on the
elevator in Chicago, on the
escalator at G. Fox in Hartford,
on that New Year’s Eve in 1958,
the bonfire in the desert and
the Village Pantry in Eureka
How could I forget?
I said.

And she apologized for
seeming out of touch, but
then, before she left, she
asked about that place I
go where everybody’s safe
and they make sure the
coffee’s fresh, the eggs are
done just right, the music on
the radio is perfect. Let’s
meet there next time, o.k.?
we said.

r.e.s. 1.2.05

Guide

The angel watching over me is wacky
but
I like it that way.

We go places where I’ve never been before
with people I can’t see and yet I know
they’re sitting there, the light says
‘fasten safety belts,’ we do, and then
the Terraplane takes off down
Highway 41, my favorite road.

We saw the moon rise over Jersey City
and the sun set off Eureka and a twister
west of Lubbock and a blizzard in Wyoming
when the car was standing still although
the dial said 45, my wacky guide said ‘trust me,’
I said ‘yes, o.k., I trust you,’ and we made it.

On the 59th Street Bridge she knocked me over,
‘that’s enough,’ she said, ‘go home,’ I did, and
when I fell asleep one night along the Deegan
she said ‘wake up Bobby, this is not the time or
place,’ and in Atlantic City she said ‘left, jump left,’
I did that too, ‘not yet,’ she said, ‘not yet.’

I wonder if she cooks.

r.e.s. 12.22.04

She called, she said forever, and they found my
thank you letter in a book beside her deathbed.

It was 1954.

And now it doesn’t matter anymore, the medicine,
the architecture, all that matters is the children.

Odd.

In 1954, the children didn’t matter much. We’re
very busy or we’re dying or we’re dead, it’s o.k.

You decide.

And she was busy too but took the time to say
let’s talk about it, yes, uh huh, I like it, go ahead.

I did.

Amen.

r.e.s. 9.12.04

Glow

The Coffeedrome stays open day and night,
if no one comes it’s open anyway, the owner
mops the floors and cleans the stove, the other
night he fixed the missing letter in the neon
sign outside, an ‘e’ had lost its grip and wasn’t
lighting properly, it made that crackling noise
that sounds a lot worse than the problem really is.

But anyway, it’s taken care of and she looks like
new, the sign, but no one came today and no one
yesterday. It could be just the start of summer,
people shifting their routine from school to
play, let’s find a place to stash ’m for a couple
months, some camp, some neighbor’s stuffy
attic, swimming lessons maybe, every day, all day.

The good part is the days are getting shorter now,
the sign out front is prettiest at twilight, it says
don’t be frightened come on in we’ve ordered
lemon ice cream (everybody’s favorite once they
try it) and the air conditioning is perfect and
the radio works best at night, we’ll listen for
the West Coast scores and fix the standings.

It’s o.k.

r.e.s. 6.23.04

Catholic

You are not allowed to feel that way.
We can, you can’t. Case closed.
Jesus said so.

Whatever.

r.e.s. 7.16.04

Last Week

It was 3 a.m., and I was sitting in a bar alone a thousand miles from
what I thought was home, and I was eating food my son prepared
for me, and afterward I drove him back, we didn’t recognize the
place we started back from, and we listened to the radio, and I
thought this is it, there's no return and nothing on the road ahead.

And Thursday morning, in the dining room, the kitty died.

I buried her out back, like all the rest, but closer to the house this
time, so close in fact the ground stays warm in winter, that’s the
thing about a home that isn’t just a house, it’s where a kitty needs
to be, year-round, someone will give her milk, a sleeping place
atop the radiator, nibbles ready on the kitchen floor at 3 a.m.

And then the other evening, in the front hall, Maggie died.

Magnolia was her formal name, but she was never formal. If she
needed to be warmer, she would bark until we let her climb up
on the couch and find a way to rest her chin against my leg. At
3 or 4 a.m. she’d let me move her from my bed spot to the center
and her breathing soon became my lullaby. I miss her.

r.e.s. 3.30.04

Out

He has a favorite corner in the Hiawatha Room,
a table for his book, a window for some reading
light, a lamp for nighttime, pen and paper ready
just in case a poem arises, funny how that happens,
let me out, it says, it’s hard to breathe in here.

And then it’s out, and maybe someone reads it,
and the drive back home from Evanston alone
(or was it Colorado), anyway the drive back home
is shared and someone maybe sees a place ahead,
fresh coffee, bacon, eggs and toast, it’s morning.

Afterwards she says I’ll drive.

r.e.s. 2.10.04

Be Careful When You Tell the Truth

I wrote a letter.

And I told the truth.

She didn’t like it,
it’s a lie, she said,
she sent it back.

So then I wrote a poem.

And every word was true.

She didn’t like it either,
she felt used, abused and
violated. That was that.

So then I simply said it.

How I felt.

And she said, “typical.”

r.e.s. 12.29.03

Trust

I said
I’m going to the deli
may I bring you anything,
and she said, maybe bottled water.

Later on . . .

I said
I’m going to the deli
may I bring you anything,
and she said, well, a piece of fruit, perhaps.

And then last night . . .

I said
I’m going to the deli
may I bring you anything,
and she said yes, a fried egg
sandwich, cheese, a kaiser roll.

At last.


r.e.s. 12.12.03

Rumble

It’s late at night, it’s early morning,
3 a.m. again, I’m driving back and
there it is, that little shaking in the
road, a sort of rumble, listen, feel it?

And it’s right near Yonkers Raceway,
just a mile or two from home, along
the Thruway, and it happens every
night, I feel it, and I think of dad.

He never heard of Yonkers Raceway,
it was something else back then, he
maybe called it EC on his pocket chits,
he had his fairy tales and I have mine.

But EC, Empire City, had a zing to it,
a something building in the east, the
proving ground for Seabiscuit, he
showed ’em, c’mon baby, bring it home.

I thought the rumble underneath me
on the Thruway was an echo of the
fastest horse that ever lived and I’ll bet
dad was smiling that night on the train.

But wait a minute, there it is again, and
that’s no horse, it’s Oldfield, Barney
Oldfield! world record, can’t beleeeevit!
Empire City race track, nineteen three.

A mile a minute, dad, remember?
Racers are the real McCoy, he said.

r.e.s. 2.24.02

If

If we could just step back and look,
not judge, not blame, and not deny
but simply look, it’s beautiful.

r.e.s. 11.5.03

Not

You don’t really live in Wauwatosa,
you’re not really on the team, don’t
really own that house, not really
smart enough to pass that test, not
poor enough to be admitted here,
not rich enough to own that car, not
really, not descended from a captain,
no I doubt that very much, not really
a hotel guest, not a resident of that
apartment building are you, you’re
not really up to architecture, you’re
not really up to medicine, you don’t
really understand the music, didn’t
really earn that scholarship, someone
intervened, I’ll bet, and you can’t really
write, not really, didn’t really graduate,
did anybody come, not really, you’re
not really from here are you, you don’t
really think we’d put you in that job,
now do you, you’re not really Catholic,
you’re not really even Christian, you
don’t really read and you don’t really
mean the things you say.

Oh. Really?

r.e.s. 11.4.03

Deer

He stood frozen in his tracks,
and yet he had to move or die,
and he guessed left, and so
did I, and here we are, alive.

God does that when he
wants to help.

Amen.


r.e.s. 10.20.03

The Number You Have Called Is Not in Service

She'd call me late at night sometimes,
at half past twelve or half past one, she’d
call me from the bus stop in the rain, or
wind, and she’d say I can’t wait for winter.

And I guess I got the calls because she
knew I’d answer, hardly anybody else
would even be awake that late or make
much sense, and so she kept my number.

I remember lots of times I had to say
hang on, I’ve got another call, and she’d
hang on, and when I had to go sometimes
she’d ask if I could stay, or call her back.

And when I did she’d answer, even if she’d
fallen half asleep, she liked to talk about a
trip someday to Norway where we wouldn’t
have to think about the weather very much.

It would be perfect.

r.e.s. 9.22.03

Concert

The Wauwatosa Recreation Band is playing
Monday night as usual, I have a front row seat.

And in my rear-view mirror, things are closer
than they seem, there’s Janet Priebeck in the
back, her crooked smile, remember? There’s
the 67 from the village struggling up the hill to
get my dad home safely, dad is waving to me,
look he has the peach sheet, maybe we can
listen to the news tonight when I get in.

But in my rear-view mirror, don’t forget, what’s
left is right, what’s right is left, so maybe dad is
leaving, maybe Janet has a crooked frown and
maybe that’s not 67 on the bus but 76, a route
I’ve never heard of, destination who knows
where and dad is gone for good and maybe
I should put away the mirror and just listen.

Yes. That’s better.


r.e.s. 7.26.03

Opportunity

Have a piece of tragedy pie, she said,
and everybody laughed a little, but we
ate the pie, of course, we wouldn’t want
to let that go to waste, that chocolate,
those jumbo eggs, that mother’s milk.

Life.

r.e.s. 6.30.03

Over Here

Time’s up Bobby, climb in back
and fall asleep, we’ve got a lot of
road ahead of us and maybe later
you can drive, but not just yet.

I kept my Philco radio nearby and
late at night the little yellow light
inside was just enough to keep me
warm, the music kept me safe.

Now, almost everything is new,
and yes, I've learned to drive and
find my way without a map, and
here I am, but something isn’t right.

At night I keep a light on just in case.

r.e.s. 6.9.03

In the spring of 2003, Joan took several of my poems with her on a trip to Europe and read them aloud at places that somehow felt appropriate. Then she recorded the scenes with photographs: . Isle of Wight Could Have I didn’t join the circus after all, I wanted to, but there were always whispers in my ear, the whisperer said this is not exactly what I had in mind now is it, I said no, of course not, I’ll try harder, and I did, and here I am. Tonight the circus came to town again and it was prettier than I remember. Everyone was there, in fact, and they were all amazed, and there were lights and noise and lovely girls and bears on bicycles, a seal that played a song, and dogs that jumped from pony back to pony back, and clowns, a thousand clowns. It’s not too late, I thought, and then I thought again. And in between the thoughts they turned the lights off. Now I see. 12.8.01 . Bruges, Belgium Not Just Yet And then there is a rumble and a crack, she wrote, a tree is falling somewhere, it no longer has the will to bear its load, it knows how weak it is and whispers to itself don’t fall don’t fall and yet there is a rumble and a crack, it falls, she heard it. Driving home at 2 a.m. today, I couldn’t stay awake, I whispered to myself don’t fall asleep don’t fall asleep and yet I fell asleep, and in that moment just before I would have heard a rumble and a crack somebody said wake up, I think, I saw a streetlight die. And I don’t understand exactly how it works, I only know it works. Amen. 2.6.02 . Keukenhaf, Holland Roots My neighbor called to say he’d had the tree out back cut down, the one that shaded both our yards, I loved that tree; I hated it he said. And so it’s gone. Now what. Well maybe there’s still time to try again, I know the soil is rich, I think there is a river flowing underground nearby, if someone says please make a place for me and let me grow, I will. I promise. 5.23.02 . Stourhead, England Judge You are wrong to feel that way, to think that way, to act that way, if there’s a way to sum it up that’s it. Well thank you very much That’s why I write this poetry, there’s no one here to judge me, God will do that, bless me father. Deo gratias. 1.22.02 . Hampton Court Palace Near London Partners in Crime So how are you, she said, and I said good, and you, I said, and she said fine. We lied. 3.9.02 . Churchill Home at Chartwell Magnolia My dog is beautiful. She’s old, she sleeps. Sometimes I carry her from bed, the stairs are hard for her, I place her near the door, she goes outside and comes back in when everything is taken care of. For dessert tonight she ate the broccoli from our Chinese takeout supper then she asked for help to get up on the couch. The football game was on. I watched, she slept, her chin against my upper arm, her jowls a sort of blanket, winter’s coming, we’re o.k. 11.26.01 mmmmmmm mmmmmmm

Depot

Here comes dad, a long day
in Chicago, mom, a longer
one in Oshkosh, there goes
everybody for the weekend,
just an hour or so it might as
well be 50 years, I think it is.

Just two blocks from my
so-called house, I used to use
a side door, not the main one,
popcorn wagon parked nearby,
the Lakeside Diner, boat rides
out beyond the lighthouse.

Sometimes, after school, I’d
go inside and watch or check
the newsstand for my racing
magazine, or better yet pretend
she saw me, standing in the
aisle aboard the train, waving.

Over here.

r.e.s. 3.23.03