Two Poems by Carl Kavaldo

palm tree

 

 

in del ray beach, florida,

 

i saw my first palm

 

tree. it had those funky

 

branches and leaves and it

 

was mighty alive to my imaginative eye.

 

i shared the house

 

with a man dying of despair.

 

the palm tree only inspired me

 

to write

 

poem after poem

 

and story after story

 

as i sat

 

at a small, white-topped, square

 

two-seater

 

at sunrise

 

and wrote joyfully to greet it.

 

it greatly

 

treated me

 

to nice slices of my own mind.

 

the dying man

 

was the owner of the co-op

 

currently in a nursing home.

 

i was there to help and thought i

 

was a much better man than him.

 

arrogantly

 

i demeaned his depression.

 

i was that way.

 

 

 

the palm tree made

 

no judgment

 

but i didn’t

 

have its wisdom.

 

underground remnant

 

 

a junkie

 

stood like a wilted flower

 

on 7th avenue

 

between 5th and 6th streets in brooklyn

 

saturday, february 9,

 

   about 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

 

everybody was busy

 

looking at the sleek shops,

 

strolling along

 

  as they were,

 

 

 

not recognizing a

 

fallen angel,

 

a piece of new york’s

 

underground

 

that’ll still

 

be around long after

 

these sleek remnants of parisian

 

fantasies and vanities

 

dry out, dry out,

 

fade and fold

    under new fickle ownership

 

and are gone.

 

Carl Kavadlo

Carl Kavaldo is a poet and short story writer.  He lives in Brooklyn, NY, with his wife.

 

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