Three Poems by Gerald Hill

We’re Not Fooled by Flat Calm Late at Night

The river offers its long brown body
to the sea. Free debris
says the river. Damp and alone says the stone

bridge across and here comes
the 2:00 sky in its loud way
clouding us a river’s muddy heat.

Six miles high some jetstream’s drooling.
The river chants basin catch.
We don’t want damage

any sky tide running
on or up our banks says
the river multiplying dark sticks

gathered at pilings. Coming along
the river motions. Hurry
dirty girl. In the width

of an afternoon a river sleeps
its rise. English tourists step
from English pubs closer

but not too close
for the river has
opened again its mouth.

***

City Night

There was waking half-asleeping.
Splinters of river underlined
the bridge. Our snuggy heads

felt pleasure streams tomorrow-trucks
parked at palm trees blinking
at the sod. We stood around

the door for who’s a body
in the later night
prow of itself to sea.

We heard what felt like
now that we feel it ourselves
where we shouldn’t be

no exit route.
It might have been
something we hate.

***

City of Bread

Drunks knock the door down. Acid heads
perceive through it. Potheads sit down
and forget. As for breadheads

when every door opens its own scent
ours is a fragrant city. Vendors warn us
Hot! We like surprise

through our bodies. Understand
why in Bread we hang in doorways
waiting for fresh delivery the warm

pow as advertised? Awake
in construction sites we hand over coins
as we did the morning before

tasting away. Bread for anything
length and bread.
Give us this.