This is the second and final poem of David’s that we will be posting (just for now, of course). We appreciated the wry yet deeply relatable sentiments he raised in “Cave with Familiar Faces,” as well as the edgy sweetness laced throughout “Not an Anniversary Poem.” Enjoy.
Cave with Familiar Faces
In this revealing moment,
this cave holds many meanings for me.
My uncertain self, an unsolved puzzle.
Isolation, suffocation.
Here’s my mother on the cave wall,
pushing me. Complaining.
Here’s my batty father hanging upside down,
playing solitaire. Mumbling to himself.
Here’s Julie and our children,
imploring me and out of reach.
There’s a gallery of betrayal here.
The hosts of people who’ve betrayed me,
the hosts that I’ve betrayed.
No one will tell me what’s going on here.
But I’ll have my say.
Destiny’s a dead end, perception’s mean and fake.
Fuck Plato. Fuck this cave.
David is a 79-year-old former social worker/family therapist living in Buffalo, New York. In 2002, he resumed writing poetry after a 35-year hiatus. During that time, he carried a sandwich board in his head declaring him, “Poet. Not writing!” He has published about 100 poems in a variety of lit mags, such as Nimrod, Passages North, and Tidal Basin Review.