6 Feb

I shouldn’t have laughed.

I could tell from her face

that she was traumatized by the event.

I certainly saw the tragedy in her story.

She and her (ex) boyfriend

find an injured duck on the roadside,

taking it home

and nursing it back to health;

only to release it back into the wild

at some random pond

and witness the duck get torn to shreds

by the ducks native to that pond.

I cried. Cried from laughter

because it was one of the saddest stories I’d ever heard–

one so poignant that I could envision her sharing it

in a creative writing class as a short story.

It was sad as hell and I felt bad for her.

But that didn’t keep me from seeing the humor in it also.


~Edward Austin Robertson



6 Feb

Such a big boy to cross the street all by himself
walked to Braum’s and got a 1/4 cheeseburger, fries, and a giant limeade.
He crossed safely back towards the apartments on Audelia,

deftly maneuvered through traffic like a game of Frogger.
Before his feet even touched the sidewalk there was a splat!
Half of his limeade ran out onto the curb

and down into the street.
Near the bottom of the cup

remained a few sips–with more ice than liquid.

He a took deep hard look at the oncoming traffic
coming from both directions and decided to not go back across.
He ached for the limeade that was lost,
wishing for more than a cup of tap water

to wash down the burger and fries
while he watched Bosom Buddies and It’s a Living

on the 13 inch Magnavox. 


~Edward Austin Robertson

Transition Chord

6 Feb

For a very long time in my life

I was the guy that girls dated
right before they met their soul mate,
life partner–the one who was serious enough
to move in with them or marry.

Once the revolving door of evolving
partners stopped spinning,
I soon realized that I was always the transition guy

because I was always the one in transition;
and its impossible 
for a girl wanting to stability

to get serious with a guy like that
unless they were equally as chaotic and unstable.

And though women like that are most times fun in the beginning,

they rarely amounted to anything past a few warm nights,

a handful of memories, and if I was really lucky,

a poem or two. Which of course, worked out fine,

until I became the person craving stability.


~Edward Austin Robertson

Creative Differences

6 Feb

He was a mixture of jazz, post-rock, and  post-punk,
a loud, bombastic
instrumental, cacophonous 
free form and improvisation
skulking closest to the underground.

She was structure,
an epic and rehearsed drama
using her commercial appeal  to gain mainstream approval.

Together they made soft soothing melodies,
creating emotional lyrics
written to quiet sunsets

Both styles complicated by their 
conflicting formats.
Neither one better; just different,
depending on one’s tastes.


~Edward Austin Robertson

A Face For Radio Guest Set w/ Mr. Dirtbike

6 Feb



1 Feb

The combination of background music

and her naked body beneath mine

created a magical and visceral image that exists to this day.

Back when the female body

was still a mystery;

when I never took for granted

any woman hopping onto my mattress with me.

When porn wasn’t quite as accessible

and conversation was merely a hurdle

one jumped through to in order to achieve sexual relations.

Before women (and people overall) weren’t such a nuisance. 

There was still an innocence to it all.

In my mind not only were we mugging down,

but we were transcending worlds with each kiss;

achieving our destinies with each bare touch,

and baring our souls through every orgasm. 

Hmm. No wonder I stayed a virgin for so long in my life.

Your boy was just simpin’.



~Edward Austin Robertson


1 Feb

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva,

you are so drunk

and sloppy,

and oh so thick.

I’m so afraid of how easy this appears to be.


Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

you just my type

with those juicy hamhocks

and big bright headlights

and proportionate  caboose.

The blemish on the side of your face

under your nose tells me

that you can be had

but at what price?

Nothing is free in the Bay Area

especially time.


Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva,

are you always this fun? or is the alcohol

that is making you laugh at my joke

about the guy who sitting in the seat next to you

not knowing the difference between creepy and romantic

because he was European.


Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

I’m loose and you’re loose

and we’re being so obvious right now that

the other passengers on the train are smirking

as you write your number on a piece of paper

before we reach the Shattuck stop.


Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

I hated myself for months

for accidentally throwing that piece of paper

on the way over to my friend’s place.

It was late, and I was drunk and it would take me

days to even remember the brief encounter we had that night.

Which now with clarity, I can see

that it might have been the best possible outcome

for such drunken encounters.


~Edward Austin Robertson