"I think Sophie may be the one Jez. I can't lose her."
We were closer to being Dwight and Angela than
Pam and Jim from “The Office.”
Or Mark and Sophie from “The Peep Show.”
I kept the blender and the kids
she kept our friends
got her own office
and visitation rights.
In the end I guess we both won.
~Edward Austin Robertson
I became an addict for your love
a junky for your energy
your smooth milky skin
your electric eyes and dazzling smile.
You always told me it wasn’t for real.
I promised not to get attached.
You said “This is it. Go on
move along, and you’ll meet some better
someone amazing.”
You were right
and I knew it even then.
It still didn’t keep me from coming back.
Wanting a little more.
Just another taste
even if it wasn’t good for me.
I wasn’t conditioned to desire
the healthy things in life.
I’m still learning the difference
between what I want
and what I need.
Still learning the discipline
of saying no.
Despite having paid for
therapy
and though we
couldn’t be more
wrong for each other,
It still hasn’t stopped me from craving you.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
I could feel her smooth calves touching mine
beneath the table.
The tiki torches were lit
and the smell of
the grill
wafted about
as we all sat and
talked about nothing.
A table full of Canucks–most
of them grad students,
and me on a
Friday night in Toronto.
I’d decided to stay
an extra night to
hang out with her
and her nice,
but unremarkable friends.
I was starting to think
that we’d found a good
stopping point
when her little
hand ran across my thigh
and my palm
caressed her arm.
(Goosebumps!!!)
She grabbed
the meat of my
thigh
and asked if I’d like
another beer.
I gave her
a quick nod
and wink
and finished off
the last
of the bottle
I already had.
Unaware that the
worst was yet
to come,
all the
depressingly
terrible
things we’d do
and say
to each other
in the months ahead.
She went back in
to the kitchen
closing the door
behind her,
while
the evening
grew
darker
and the people
we’d turn into
became less
and less
far away.
~Edward Austin Robertson
She asked me
once
if I wasn’t
just
playing games,
dating crazy
women
for the
sheer
sake of experience.
Loving and leaving
with
every arbitrary
whim to
gain material
for another book.
I laughed
incredulously,
thinking
of every single
night spent
alone in
my apartment
drinking
whiskey
and listening to
Gram Parsons
in hopes that
writing would help
me get over
the most
recent disintegrating
relationship.
“Trust me”
I said.
“If that’s
what it
takes
to write
a good poem,
consider me
retired.
I can’t take
any more
drama.
I’d rather
give up
writing
than endure
such craziness
again.
It aint
worth it.”
Yet it came
much sooner
than I expected.
Once again
I’m staring
at a computer
screen
wishing that
I was a better
writer.
One
with the
ability
to examine
other things
in life
like
nature
rocks
snakes
desert
trees
clouds
skylines
television shows
or depraved
and depressed
people.
I’d rather
write about anything
besides
my latest
heartbreak
with her.
~Edward Austin Robertson
Ambitious
Staring out the bus window
at various rock sediments
and
enormous pastures of white
knowing
I shouldn’t question myself.
Something great
on the horizon
but I also
knew I’d
left behind
a good woman
though I wasn’t
sure if five-six
months of good sex
would be worth
what I’d
miss out on.
Perhaps it’d be better
to get this
“White Line Fever”
out of my system
before I was
going to attempt
to do any
settling down.
We’d have probably
been okay
but the thought
of being an
emotional
babysitter
to yet
another
woman
didn’t
sound
all that
appealling
especially if
the juice wasn’t
worth the squeeze.
Be hard
to justify
staring off
into space
while she
chirped away
about the
things
rattling
around in her brain.
We both deserved
better than
that.
Besides I’d
taken that
route before
dragging two
people
through the mud
in the process.
My conscience
had barely
recovered from that trip.
This was the right
decision
and I knew so
because it
hurt the most.
But when
would enough
be enough?
When could things
just be alright
for me?
Always
onto
the next city
the next project
the next woman.
Who the fuck
did I think
I was?
Shel Silverstein?
Even he died alone.
Ambition
is a real
motherfucker.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
Hopeful Romantic
Many people think I’m
a hopeless romantic
but if they paid
more attention
they’d see I
was a hopeful romantic.
Romance to me
is more than
sex
or wine and dinner.
please.
I’m poor
and a poet.
I’m a man
of simple pleasures.
I find lots
of things to be romantic.
Ice cream
baths
hiking
naps
new pairs of socks on the feet
breaking
into public pools
and skinny dipping.
Picking mushrooms
in cow pastures
baking muffins
pot brownies
sitting
on the porch
listening to tunes
ON WEED!!!!!
Watching meteor
showers on the rooftop.
Driving alone
in the rain
listening to “Riders on the Storm”
A hopeless romantic
is someone happily resigned
to never finding love.
Someone who couldn’t
recognize love if it hit them in
the face with its genitals.
A hopeful romantic
is someone who
realizes the possibilities
in every waking moment.
Someone who knows
that today just might be their day.
There’s a big difference
between the two.
Don’t you think?
~Edward Austin Robertson~
Riot
Wealthy
black
affluent
cultured
businessmen
and families
pushed north
through the
fires.
A tragic tale
of greed
jealousy
and evil.
The part of town
where a ballpark
now stands
bears little
reminder
of past deeds
unpunished
except
current
socio-economic
patterns
where one group
thrives
and the
other just
survives
everyone suffering
as a result.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
The dread became more
pronounced
the closer
we got to the bus station.
We couldn’t walk slow enough
or fast enough.
Her left hand holding my
right hand.
My left hand holding
my luggage.
Just like that
Robert Johnson song.
I used humor
as a defense
for my sadness,
cracking jokes
at a breakneck
pace.
Not sure if
I’ve ever been
wittier
or sadder.
I kissed her goodbye
thinking it’d be
a matter
of time ‘til
we met again.
I wonder how different
things would be
if I’d have just canceled
my plans
and stayed a while longer……….
maybe we’d have gotten
it out of our system
perhaps I’d have never come
back.
If only I could
visit a parallel
universe
and find out
without
giving up
the lessons
I learned
from my
decision to leave.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
I was minding my own business
watching the Patriots-Colts game.
(Rooting against the Colts)
when she chatted me up.
She looked at me fiercely
told me she was a squirter
and a Scorpio,
48 years old.
She looked like
a poor man’s Shirley
Maclaine.
I told her I had to
be at work in less
than an hour.
But the Pats were up
by 17 with less
than 8 minutes to go,
so I called work and
said I’d be fifteen minutes late.
I instructed her to
pay her tab
and meet me
in the parking lot.
We went back to her
place and
I gave her
the Bobby Mickey
Special
no onions
extra mayonnaise.
Her pussy squirted
like the fountains
at Royals Stadium.
The next day I saw that
the Colts had come back to
win the game,
something about a 4th and 2
on their on 29.
The Patriots went
for it and sealed
their fate.
3 days later
my urethra was sticking
together.
Coach Belichick wasn’t
the only one
who made
a bad call
on Sunday night.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
Oatmeal in the mornings.
Guacamole for lunch
Chick pea soup for dinner.
Music
sunlight
filtered water
compost bin in the freezer
separate bin for recyclables
good company
relevant conversation
and comfortable silences.
Watching movies
and spilling popcorn in bed.
Occasionally
some really good love making.
Weekend evenings
of board games
at friend’s houses.
Bong hits with ice
flossing before bed,
letting the yellow
mellow.
Going to bed with
a warm heart
and full stomach,
waking up
with a sense
of purpose.
~Edward Austin Robertson~
Nuclear Polio Vaccination 