I am hysterical
although I appear
still & soundless
quietly smoking cigarettes
but you can be hysterical
without screaming
you can be hysterical
just say
gathering smoke
into your lungs
or flicking an ash
in a small room
in broad daylight
my mind is rickety
God, eternity, souls
reincarnation, heaven, etc.
my mind just can’t hold the weight
of such things
yes, these things are heavy for me
you need a solid table
with big legs
for all that grandiosity
my mind’s basic
like a card table
it can hold maybe
a makeshift tincan ashtray
a pack of cigarettes
a blue bic lighter
my elbow
and as I sit here
the table is mostly bare
mostly empty space
a little shaky
one day death will put its fist
right through this table
as easy as plunging
it through the smoke
that floats above it
and it’ll put its fist right through
your colossal table too
right through the fancy centerpiece
the big fat candle holders
thick plates and colorful glasses
the solid napkin rings
the shiny, heavy utensils
right on through the ample
wooden top
Rob Plath's poetry has appeared in Big City Lit,Chiron Review, Devil Blossoms, Gnome and Nerve Cowboy among others.