Chris Bodor (USA)

Chris Bodor (USA)

 

Chris Bodor is a US poet, who was born in 1967 in Connecticut to an English mother and a Hungarian father. After working for ten years in New York City, he moved to Florida in 2003. In August of 2009, Chris started hosting monthly poetry readings on the last Sunday of every month in St. Augustine, Florida. During the past 25 years, Bodor’s poems have appeared in many independent, small, and micro-press publications, such as the Lummox Journal, FM Quarterly, and Old City Life.

 

Embrace Every Day

The morning coffee that you crave
is now knocked over
Wasted. Never tasted
Soaked into the carpet of your car.

The unused umbrella
that you carried all month
is lost at this moment
while you walk to work
in the pouring rain.

Your partner
lies beside you every night
Then you fight
Suddenly one of you is sleeping alone
on the sofa in the living room.

You speak of love
during your daily routine
but what does love really mean?

Define love before it leaves
Embrace every day
Quick, before love slips away.

 

Descend

December descends while
November disappears into the horizon
Weather worn scarecrows know
about the migration of snowbirds.

The hands of the clocks
tumble down the dark hole
while wrinkled work hands
with bloody knuckles
harvest crops.

Cucumbers become pickles
down in the root cellar
On Main Street gold plated plastic
is marked-up by wise merchandisers.

Cold turkeys get stuffed
on Last Meals of turnips, creamed onions, apologies
Underneath a hibernation blanket
a nation descends into December.

 

Wings Clipped

During the Summer of 1985
the beach began to beckon
but instead I got my wings clipped.

In one hand
I held a high school diploma
In my other hand I held a timecard

During my tenure at the factory
I never soared too close to the sun
I never dipped too close to the ocean waves
I flew in a straight line from the drill press,
to the deburring machine,
past the steel drum filled with metal shavings
resisting urges and cravings.

Days blurring together
turning gears and pushing levers
I would secretly plan a getaway trip
but I would always surrender
because my wings were clipped.

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