Two Poems by Peter Nathaniel Malae
Boozing in Two-Yard

Tonight along the outer wall,
there's power and innards in numbers.
We aren't alone like yesterday,
wet and paranoid,
watering down the inner wall
with the Twelve-Step Firehose.
With every cup-rimmed kiss,
we acknowledge a higher power,
soaking the impious insides in God.

Take a long, hard look
at my strewn and torn-down,
tatted-up brothers
with grooves for wrinkles
and stink for breath
in little rising clouds;
bound and slumped
like unnatural landscape,
proof of life in the pen.
Some weeds survive the pesticides,
sprayed and withered
but feeding each other
homemade pruno and gumption.
And the liver just tickles like a love-ache
when wallflowers get out
and go home.

There is One Way Down

Of degradation,
Of slight and spit,
denunciatory flak,
index fingers,
provide impious happiness.
Uplift your arms at once!
Remind the man upon his box
that soap is slippery.
Perchance the box is not enough,
the pulpit angled low,
stack books and boards beneath his feet,
go find a microphone.
Say, "Hush!" to fellow
gutter dwellers gathered in the mist.
Then take your seat contentedly
and watch the bastard fall.

Peter Nathaniel Malae