Saturday, July 26, 2025

Awkwardly Social

To be socially
            awkward
is to be
    existentially
comic: or, bow slightly
while shaking the hand
of an American faux patrician
because their schtick,
like a witch, turns you

into a faux British-butler.
It's something to do with
mountain origins, your pop's
disdain for urbanity, your Cubist
collage of manners and inborn
suspicion that the most

well mannered people might
be serial killers, white supremacists,
that sort of beast, & your
       certainty
that fate set you down
beyond or between customary
                                  circles:
a question of placement. Ec-centric.

You're often outside,
on the pavement, nose to the glass,
staring at a Them, who
    Know What They Are Doing.

hans ostrom 2025

Brother Season, Sister Season

Autumn, nicknamed Fall
(and what a come-down),
will ride back into town
soon. Under a half-moon's
green-light cloack.

She'll sew dew
and cut last flowers,
stuff them in her saddle
bags to rot. The smell

of her horse will set
the dogs to barking.
She'll stuff berries
into the bloated bellies
of fattening bears. 

Again, she'll lose her temper,
yell, "To Hell with leaves,
I never liked them." 

Finally, her mature brother,
Winter, will stomp in wearing
white boots and an ice-cape.
"Get gone, Sister," he'll say,
direct and cold. "Come back
after next Summer. Drop a note
from South America. 

hans ostrom 2025