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Joseph Reich, one poem


when i die

i just want

my wife

to dump

my tired


right on

the porch

none of

that fancy





where every

one goes


the room


their true blue


& bullshit


& excuses

& anecdotes

just wanting

to hear their

own voices

in warhol’s

15 minutes

of fame


even leave

me with

the house


& cactuses


the rainy



i'm out there

& wondering

what to do

with me

leaving me

all coiled-up

like a bullet-

ridden dillinger

or billy the kid

when they’re


in & out the

screen doors

scraping burgers

off the grill & finally

figure what i really

would have preferred

loading me up in my

duffel bag where i took

all my travels & unravel

& let me go down that river

(perhaps even with some left

over sand & maps & guide books)

which flows past the capitol

& gorgeous ghetto & dairy

cream all the way into

the deep green mountains

up into north country

separates the hudson

& lake champlain

& the adirondacks

& montreal city

& st. lawerence

& quebec city

just take a job where

i can work minimum wage

& get consistent hours

working behind the

postcard carousel

where the pilgrims

in top hats & tails

used to travel.


Joseph Reich is a social worker who lives with his wife and

twelve year old son in the high-up mountains of Vermont .

He has been published in a wide variety of eclectic literary journals

both here and abroad, been nominated six times for The Pushcart Prize, and his books in poetry and cultural studies include offerings in Skive Magazine Press, Flutter Press, Brick Road Poetry Press, and others.

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