Setting The Table

every year the bees will come
to the flowers, and the
fruit will grow and drop
and it all
had to mean something
or maybe it never did

it never did

Bukowski didn’t groan
into his aged repose
he eased like a man
that had earned some measure
of quiet
He, with wife and cats
in comfort
as Ginsberg had Peter
the fire smolders
to a low flame
the invincibility


and what will I say,
or be said of me in my

for now
anger at certainty,

futility and youth.

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


Please Return Your Shopping Carts To This Location

Tuesday 3pm
in the backseat, waiting
for so-and-so’s mother
to run her errands
at The Walmart, not a 24 Hour
our Wal Fart’s only open ’til
10 pm
the lot is packed with polite,
quiet Canadians
thinking their thoughts
accumulating their things
living lives
working their way through
the maze

greeting cards ought to be
an outmoded custom
what with email, txt messages,
social media sites

and I watch them buy these things
things without hesitation
things “we ‘Have To’ buy X a thank you,
hope you are feeling better,
well wishes, etc. card because
we must.”

and dollies for little girls
to put the grief of marriage
in their naive heads, the want for
babies, in the minds of babies

and guns and trucks
for the boys to make imaginary heroes
of themselves

because we must.

it all seems like organized perversion

to me

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


all the men in this town
are whores, i know
i wasn’t
until i moved here

my first lay in this town
was an easy girl, she
initiated me into manhood
let me tell you
heaven is for easy girls
for every time they spread
a nerd gets his wings
or whatever, i
can only seem to remember
the punchline

men in this town fight like
cats over fish
hair raised
backs up
and the yowling starts
as if their reputations
precede them “you know who i am?”
you know who I am?”

and the girls play into it
encouraging the catty bitch-fest
probably for a lack
of real options

Bean and i were telling jokes
over coffee at a diner
he was a long necked scrape of a kid
bright eyes and a knack with females
back then you could sit all night
smoking cigarettes
without a cover charge
it was late, and he asked

what do you call a woman
with two black eyes?

what, i asked

nothing, he said, you already told her
,i laughed,
sipped at my coffee
and smiled out a nearby window
reflecting on the week before
when I bumped into Cee Jay
and he asked “have you seen
Lizard’s new poke?”

no, i replied

“he’s with Mel B.”

that big girl? i asked
and held my arms out at my sides
as if to show that i understood
his meaning

“yeah, that’s her.
what in the hell’s a rake like Lizard
doing with a beast like that? it’s
like an elastic band
fuckin’ an egg”, we both laughed

considering it now, i think
i failed
a misogyny test

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

Cancer Pants

did the Hollywood P.D. coverup the
Black Dahlia murder to protect corrupt
police officers?

was Hoffa disposed of by R. Nixon’s Mafioso?

did the Church of Scientology
strong arm HBO effectively shutting down
an L.Ron biopic,
and then target Phillip Seymour Hoffman because of
his characterization of Hubbard as
cult leader/lunatic Lancaster Dodd in the movie
The Master?

did Hugo Chavez get his fatal groin cancer
from a strain specifically designed by
the CIA under the authority of
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton,
who in 2010 sent out a message to US embassies,
consulates, and missions,
to acquire DNA on Foreign Leaders as a retaliation
to Hugo’s ’06 United Nation’s
address where he openly accused Pres. G.W. Bush
of being the Devil?

is it possible that D. Trump’s presidential campaign
was nothing more than a gambit
to ensure a landslide for H. Clinton
against the risk of another ‘Bush Recall Scandal’?

is that why
The Don, a successful venture capitalist
reinforced his sexist/racist agenda
with further open remarks
despite it being an obviously BAD
business move?

is Trump refusing to ‘Drop Out’
of the presidential race in order to prevent
a Hillary uncontested/ hung election
to be decided by the House of Representatives?

has everyone forgotten about
the Benghazi files?

did the Trump Tapes re-establish Hillary’s earlier feminist platform?

is a Government, the act or process of
governing; specifically: authoritative
direction or control, and is this Organization
capable of manipulating foreign entities
with threats of war, or political/ economical pressure?

is Conspiracy defined by a group of persons
who devise obfuscating tactics to
indirectly coerce the actions of another group?

is any of this

is control an illusion, or only unattainable by the other 99%?

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


ten, or fifteen years
i worked for a local
moving company
never held a driver’s license
but i’ve got some size to me
so it goes
loading, and unloading
the box truck
a Hyundai cab-over
with Kevin
who i swear looked just like
Phil Collins did
back in the day
and i told him so
sometimes starting our mornings
by singing Genesis lyrics

mostly our job was Sears Deliveries
one for one,
front end washer dryer orders
we’d swap out the old ones
and haul them down to the salvage yard
to be scrapped

well, this one Thursday
we got a delivery order for
a fridge to a neighbouring town
so out we went
thirty or so minutes
looking for this address

to pass the time we gabbed
about old news
and he
being older than i
told me the story of Colin Thatcher
son of a now former provincial premier
Colin followed his father into
got married, had children
and for whatever reason
relations between he and her
to the point where Colin was
accused of hiring a hit man
to off his then ex-wife

“fifty thousand
is a lot of money,
especially back in ’83”

we fell to silent imaginings
of such a callous evaluation of
human life

and as fate may have it, or
irony intervened
i shit you not
shortly after pulling up
that muddy track to that
derelict farmhouse
a woman in her thirties
met us at the back of the truck
so sign the invoice
which Kevin examined
with some alarm

i noticed, and asked him what
and he said he’d tell me later
and i pried, and he divulged
a further recollection
he recognized her name

couldn’t believe it
we were delivering a fridge to
Colin Thatcher

i saw him, and sure enough
that old gray witch of a man
watched us haul his fridge
every inch of the way into his
shit box kitchen

as we deliberated on how best
to remove his old clunker
i assumed Ol’ Thatch was out of earshot
when Kevin asked me to open
the freezer door
i replied much too loudly
“heck no, there’s probably
a severed head in there!”

we heaved it around the corner
and there was Thatcher
staring me down

and all i did was grin like a smug

Old Thatcher played it off
signed his name
on the delivery manifest
and as soon as we got back to
the shop
Kevin printed off two photocopies
one for us both

i framed mine and hung it proudly
on the wall

then lost it somewhere along with
one of my own failed unions

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

The Meek Shall Inherit Nothing

see him there
cross out front
nose held high
walking tall,
head full of dogma
christian man too young
to grow a beard
impervious to harm
arrogant schmoozing mixing
with ladies if only to damn them
for their heretical
self worship

no piety, no
his god out in front
in the heavens beyond scrutiny
in the unknowable distance
in faith
prayer his conduit to god
his jesus an amplifier to direct
his prayer
until man made a god of jesus
thus bringing god closer
to the christian
now man walks about like a messiah
a messiah without goodness
without incorruptibility
seeking a devil that he may devour

watch him cast his eyes at women
deeming them unworthy of his charity
condemning them,
while i
keep my hood raised
a sign to those around me
that i
wish to be left alone,
and nothing else

and that man armed with arrogance
bored with the sneers of witches
points his cross at me
“What’re you hiding from under there,
You look like a skulking criminal,
A miscreant,
A thief seeking a mark

Come, remove your hood so we can better
see what you’re about.”

“i’m tending to my business,
see to your own,” i quietly respond.

“Speak up,”
he commands from a safe distance,
I couldn’t hear you.”

“you heard me well enough,” i reply
unmoved. drinking my drink,
smoking my smoke, making no attempts
to engage
it angers him, it’s clear
i don’t need eyes to feel his intensity
and he works up his courage
god on his side as he steps nearer
before he can speak another word
i turn to face him directly in one
feet firmly rooted to
the earth, i meet his eyes
he seems unnerved, searching me
for a weakness
and i take this opportunity to speak first
“you claim to be a christian yet
you arm yourself with the Word
as a sword to cut any who see things
differently.” then i return to repose
with drink and smoke
he quotes at me from scripture
without an original thought in his head
proving me right
and i hear those familiar verses
mishandled by an inept merely quoting
from his book of wards and curses
merely quoting, and i feel pity,
actual sickening pity
like a lump in my stomach
pity for this programmed mass of
useless meat
and i listen but all i see
is a madman in the street
ranting crazy condemnations and
babbling gospel
from a self-appointed soapbox
a crowd has gathered, his ego fed

and i have nothing to do
but walk away

feeling nothing

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.