On First Looking Into the Gift Horse’s Mouth

“Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,”
wrote Keats of gilt-edged books of poetry.
I estimate my armchair odyssey
outlasted his by one-point-seven-fold
before our first stamped passports. To behold
famed peaks of foreign verse transported me,
like him, but rarely geographically.
We’d known of Elsewhere just what we’d been told.

We both loved French and Latin: Keats had had
no time in France; I’d spent five days, last year.
Keats went to Rome, but not, alas, back home.

Mom tempts me now with Venice! Athens! Rome!
A two-week cruise, half-price! That’s not half bad!
But you’re in Hell when you’re with her, says Fear.


Keep Calm and Carry On

Our fourth and final airport. One last try
to nab the weapon. Small, more wide than long,
her juggernaut’s unnoticed till the gong
of metal trash receptacles, the high-
pitched ping of poles, the yelps of passers-by.
She must be stopped. She must. I must be strong.
“Here, put your bag on mine, Mom.” “Why? What’s wrong?”
she asks. “I want to stack our roll-ons.” “Why?”

“Just let me try it,” I respond. I’ve learned
that reasons prompt more vigorous rebuttals.
“I’m FINE,” my mom insists. Since being subtle’s
never been my strength, my gambit’s spurned.

She crashes on. I sigh. We both have brought
more awkward unchecked baggage than we’d thought.


Carousel

“They always break at least one wheel,”
she warns, then plays her hidden ace:
“But I’ve got duct tape! No big deal!

What baggage handlers fail to steal
or send off on a wild-goose chase,
they always break — at least one wheel — ”

Our bags arrive. Hers comes piecemeal
(the main part, then the shattered base).
“ — but I’ve got duct tape. No big deal,”

she laughs, and blithely starts to peel
off lengths to bandage, bind, and brace.
“They always break. At least one wheel

still works!” I shift her bag, then reel.
What’s in the damned thing? Orthoclase?
“But I’ve got duct tape! No big deal

is worth the luggage salesman’s spiel.
I buy what’s cheapest to replace.
They always break—at least one wheel—
but I’ve got duct tape, no? Big deal!”

Julie Steiner


If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Julie Steiner  would be pleased to hear them