UNTITLED POEM

I'm waiting for you, but not purely.
I'm not all waiting the way a dog
outside a supermarket is all waiting
for his mistress, doing nothing else
but waiting, having nothing else to do.
Oh I have something else I have to do,
I think, and I can make things up to do,
so that I am not all waiting like a dog,
but I am waiting for you, though not purely.
So come on, come out, wherever you are
or else my impure waiting might change
to pure waiting, or into mad waiting.
I might stop waiting entirely just
when you, as you say, say "I'm coming."

ALAN DUGAN


LOVE SONG: I AND THOU

Nothing is plumb, level or square:
    the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
    any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
    dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
    I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
    for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
    hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
    at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
    Oh I spat rage's nails
into the frame-up of my work:
    It held. It settled plumb.
level, solid, square and true
    for that one great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
    skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
    but I planned it I sawed it
I nailed it and I
    will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
  to the left-hand cross-piece but
I can't do everything myself.
  I need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.

ALAN DUGAN