Tag Archives: Edward Austin Robertson

Jackson Heights

18 Aug

Casually diverse.

The streets are always busy,

quietly active.


~Edward Austin Robertson


12 Jun

Jostled awake by a noise.

A splattering of urine

next to my bedside.


~Edward Austin Robertson


12 Jun

Soaked rocks, moist damp greens

sweating abundantly dispersed

in a vacuum cloud.


~Edward Austin Robertson



12 Jun

Dimples, teeth, skin, figure

lanky, Quebecois speaking Espanol.

Small surf town near Puerta Vallerta

That track she played me

was the height of our intimacy,

the beach party was the low,

as the chicken I had for dinner

suddenly betrayed me.


~Edward Austin Robertson


The Dangers of Driving at Night

25 May

Maybe all it took was a little smoke

a cup of coffee and a 1 am road trip

to really understand Tom Waits’

“Heart of Saturday Night”.


I’ve often felt like 3 AM was a specific sweet spot

for listening to Neil Young

on late night intrastate drives–

the sloppier the production the better.

I once enjoyed those late night excursions.


But those were much safer times.

My mission tonight was to get home undetected

by any potential predator–policeman or otherwise.

Caught in a storm

and each passing 18 wheeler

provided an additional challenge

of avoiding any major splashback

that could result in a wreck.


Its not like I’m afraid to die.

I am not.

But the anxiety of having projects unfinished

or things left unsaid, does get to me sometimes.


Which made this weekend that much sweeter

having had the chance to be reminded

what it is like to spend time

with a woman who was equal parts,

funny, smart, kind and beautiful.


So much I wanted to tell her:

like how being with her is so easy

and that the reason for my silence 

Is that I’m so impressed that she turned out to be

as remarkable of a person as I originally thought she would be.

That I respected her ability to recognize

how unique and how special she really was.


But I certainly could say none of these things

if I didn’t make my destination.


No matter how grumpy tomorrow looked for me

I could still wake up,go to work, and eat my Kolaches

if I survived.

Otherwise, they’d be free game to the investigating authorities

for whomever was brave enough to sweep

the glass off the crushed box of pastries,

and take a huge bite of a sausage puff

without a trace of irony in their face.


But it was too dark.

Too late.

And too rainy to entertain such fantasies.

I’d better focus on the road.

There was another trailer trying to pass on my left.


~Edward Austin Robertson






Humility in Doses

22 Apr

The collective air had been sucked out the town

with the madness now over.

Their team had lost

but their guys were were getting their recognition


A  pleasant weekend of chasing pickup ball

all over town and now we were in the park

enjoying the waning daylight


It was good to see her again–

to finally know there were no grudges held on either side

No doubt I could’ve handled things

with more delicacy and tact.

She was just doing what young women do at that age


We talked for about an hour;

neither of us really saying anything.

Avoiding any past details that led

to touching each other’s faces

early into the night;

caught somewhere between

convenience and necessity,

lust and tenderness,

tepid and cavalier,

wrecking the perception of friendship


I know what I should’ve done

even while I hurriedly packed

running from feeling broken and disappointed.


She looked in good spirits

and that felt good.

But the biggest difference was that I was finally happy.


I hadn’t failed myself after all

And as it turned out I’d left

at exactly the right time–

again and again (soon to be) again


I felt the sudden sense of satisfaction

towards my lovers (all of them).

Happy for all of them

and happy about all of them.

Knowing that they were all the right ones

And knowing that none of them were the right ones.


The chimes from the city clocks went off.

The wind stiffened.

There was about an hour of daylight left.

She and I hugged it out in the middle of the park

before I got in my vehicle and left town.


~Edward Austin Robertson


25 Jan

My first weekend post birthday was nearly over

by the time I realized my new age.

Los Angeles? More like Lost Angeles

Sitting in the McDonald’s drive thru

trying to figure out the best way to get to the airport.


By my calculations, I was nearly 60 in white people years.

Cuantos tienes anos meeester?

Old enough to know better.


Every day just got sweeter

knowing we are never guaranteed  to

see another set of birthday candles to extinguish.


The existing barbarism  woven deep

within our society’s fabric

has been lying low and dormant,

a fact that we forgot about not because it was hiding,

but rather because we refused to acknowledge it

until it became too obvious to ignore–

Kinda like when someone’s urethra stops itching

only to give way to a  burning sensation.


Time to flip the script (again).

The board has changed

and what I’ve suspected and feared for 17 years 

is finally coming to fruition.

I’ve been right all along but didn’t want to believe it.


Shifting from apathy to anger, from disbelief to resignation

it was hard to muster up enough grief to feel sad for us.

We were getting what we deserved.

But there was no reason to ever be afraid again

because the worst case scenario was indeed happening.



Even those fortunate enough to survive the next 4 years

would be leaving something behind that they may never get back.



The drive thru cashier handed me my coffee

and pointed me in the direction of the airport.


I pulled out of the parking lot and took a right on La Brea Avenue

and drove back towards the direction I came from.


I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up

or how I was going to get there,

but I had a pretty good idea of where I should start.



~Edward Austin Robertson