About Mike DuBour...

Written: Poetry

The Ride (click here)

Last Party (click here)

Warped (click here)

Thirteen (click here)

Catatonic (click here)

Nothing (click here)

Jewish Funeral (click here)

Corporate Whore (click here)

Alzheimer's Poem (click here)

Heterophobia (click here)

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The Ride

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Darkness consumes me. No sound of my beating heart.         
No hunger for air. No hunger.                                    
My eyes closed. I am aware                                        

of the sheet that covers my body to my chest.            
I am lifted and placed on cold                                    
leather. A cool sheet touches                                      

the tip of my nose. String is placed around my toe.                
I am pushed. Squeaking, bumping, stop.                                
There is laughter, sneakers squeak on the floor.                                             

An elevator chimes, doors open, I roll in.                               
Doors close, someone whistles a tune,                        
“Like a Prayer” Madonna.                                                      

Chimes ring out. Once again doors open and I am pushed.                                                   
The sheet, my shroud, gently ruffles                          
in the quick pace. Doors open,                                               

bumping, squeaking, talking, mumbling. Stop.
Once again I am lifted and placed on cold                                          
steel stabbing my back and legs.                                             

I cannot respond, cannot cry. I am naked.                              
A file cabinet is closed. Stop,
a thump, dead silence.                                    

Darkness consumes me. No sound of my beating heart.         
No hunger for air, no hunger.                                     
My eyes closed. I am aware                                        

and cold throughout. I slide into noise.                       
I am lifted and placed on cold                                                
plastic. My fat doesn’t move.                                     

The coolness of the sheet removed, a zipper hums.                
Motion, bumping, metal sliding                                              
on metal. A car door shuts.                                         

An engine idles, a gear chosen, jerking of                              
a speedy brake happy driver.                                      
Side to side, muffled music.   

A voice attempts to sing along, off key.                     
Stop. Metal sliding on metal.                                       
Bump, bump. Voices, I can hear,                                           

“Here’s the one for tomorrow, he should be easy”                 
I always was. The voices stop.                                    
Cold darkness. A zipper hums.                                               

Darkness consumes me. No sound of my beating heart.          
No hunger for air, no hunger.                                     
My eyes closed. I am aware                                        

of silence, chilled yet do not shiver.               
I am lifted and placed on cold                                                
steel stabbing. I am naked.                                          

Subtle sounds of silverware carried in one hand.                    
A vacuum cleaner? Cold at my                                                                                   
throat. Cold at my inner thigh.                                    

The vacuum cleaner struggles, strange feeling throughout.       
A coldness, darkness consumes me.                                       

I am aware, receding.        

---

Last Party

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I hear the moaning of some strange machine
through the wall that houses the urinal I piss in.

It gurgles and sucks and ends
in a high pitched scream.

I wash my hands and pull paper
to dry them and stare at myself

I can't believe I'm here doing this.
I walk back up. Up the stairs into soft music.

I join the others as we prepare her wake
as we prepare for her funeral.

"We're preparing her now" the mortician announces
as he places a calloused hand on my back

and leads me to the door into the sunlight.
We stand on the front porch.

The sour sadness keeps us silent and I realize
that my piss and her blood are mixing in the sewer.

---

Warped

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I was young, a twig, when Ciocia said, “Put on some muscle boy”
Instead I went for the cookie jar and grabbed a sugar daddy
And snuck to the laundry room where I ate it under the sink.
The caramel, it tasted so good I was in pure ecstasy!
Revved up from my sugar delight I ran to the apple tree swing
It wasn’t there, it was in the tool shed behind a lock.

I ran to Ciocia to see, if she had the key, to the lock.
The key wouldn’t turn, Ciocia turned to me, use your muscle boy.
I gathered my strength and turned the key and watched the door swing
Open into the dark space. On the floor, a sugar daddy
Lay still wrapped, waiting to be eaten, I was in ecstasy
Once again, and found the swing neatly on the indoor work sink.

I grabbed the swing, wooden seat wrapped in chains, from the sink.
Left the tool shed, slammed the door, making sure the key turned in the lock.
I hung it under the apple tree and reached the sky in ecstasy
And dreamt of not being a twig, What I would do for muscle, boy
What I would do. For now, I’ll just suck on my sugar daddy.   
Legs in the air, sky, then ground, as I sit and fly and swing.

The house is gone now and there is no apple tree to hold the swing.
There is no laundry room to sneak to, that houses a sink
To sneak my sweet sugary childhood delight, sugar daddy.
The tool shed fell down years ago and there is no more lock.
No Ciocia to nag my weight or say  “use your muscle boy”  
No secret steal away on a swing lost in ecstasy.

Today I’m in a club, a friend offers me some ecstasy.
I think nothing could compare to my days on the swing
Not even the begging, to take a drug, by some muscle boy.
If I need to escape I just return, to under the sink.
In my head of course, a place where a key and a lock
Reap out a swing, and the sweet sugary taste of sugar daddy.

My friend has an old rich lover he calls sugar daddy.
He says everyone needs one, they supply the ecstasy.
I go to the bathroom, on the stall door there is a lock.
I sit on the toilet and take a deep breath and go to my swing,
I let out my stress, flush the toilet in guise and go to the sink,
I wash my hands and rubbing them, run into muscle boy.

He goes to a stall, opens the door, smiles and swings 
To look at me while I still wash my hands at the sink.
I look the other way, dry my hands and leave muscle boy.

     

---

Thirteen

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Above the garage floor, under the roof,
Somewhere amongst the rafters.
Two sheets of plywood formed a rough floor
Covered with carpet. I was thirteen.

Light peeked in the window below
and violated our fort.
The champagne numbed my spirits
The red candle burned. I was thirteen.

My heart pounded with fear and sadness,
She nervously forced a smile.
I clambered on top of her
Soft, pale, pink body. I was thirteen.

I closed my eyes and took a breath
And moved into position.
Knocking over the bottle
It fell to the garage floor and shattered.

I was thirteen

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Catatonic

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I felt helpless as the glass shattered.
Not once, not twice,
But shatter, shatter, shatter and crack!

I felt helpless as the bureau crashed
To the floor.
Chasing its drawers to the carpet.

I felt helpless as the mattress flew
Across the room.
The box spring its shadow, its wake.

I felt helpless as the mirror hit
The wall, the paint
And again a shatter, but no crack.

---

Nothing

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The floor creaks, but it is not the wind
The door opens, a dark shadow steps in

He whispers my name, sits on the bed
He touches my face, squeezes my leg.

He moves his fingers, cups me in his hand
He licks his hand’s bounty, because he can

He lifts my hand, and places it on himself
He closes my fingers, moves them back and forth

My eyes stay closed, I act and feign sleep
My innocence is stolen, I make not a peep.

My heart sends me, to some far off land
My heart makes me lie there, sleep, pretend.

---

Jewish Funeral

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We wheel you to your grave
The flimsy wooden box that carries you
Seems like a crate used to carry produce.

I’d never been to a Jewish funeral
No vault, no flowers, no pomp
in tragic circumstance

We lower you into the pit
And bury you.
All of us
One spadeful at a time

The star covers in an instant
As a candle is snuffed

The dirt hits your bare
casket and rolls off to the side

The thud echoes up the dark walls of
Your grave and dissipates in the
Frigid air where tears, freshly wrung from my heart
hang like icicle

---

Corporate Whore

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I have silently cried on the way home,
My heart melting in my chest as each mile is traveled,
As each t-shirt shop is passed, as each rest area stopped at, the ocean fading to memory.
Rushing back to a mundane existence where a handsome paycheck and
executive status are equivalent to death and robots. 

---

Alzheimer's Poem

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I walk through the garden, flowers my friends stare wide eyed
Through fragrant lenses.

I remember their names but can’t recall them right now.

My daughter approaches, smiling she waves and hugs

I remember her name, but can’t recall right now.

I stoop to tie my shoe, strings unlaced by a blackberry’s bramble
 
I remember how to tie, but can’t recall right now.

I wake late at night. I stagger to the bathroom.

I remember where it is, but can’t recall right now.

 

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Heterophobia

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Who doesn’t like the gay community?              (Shrug shoulders hands out)
They probably dress badly.
Who doesn’t like a crowded, loud, thumping, tea dance?
They probably have children.

They probably dress badly.
Shame on me for saying that,
They probably have children.
Well they probably do, and ones that yell.

Shame on me for saying that.
I need to be more kind.
Well they probably do, with ones that yell.
If you really think about it.

I need to be more kind.
I like families with kids, its very necessary,
If you really think about it.
I just wish they all liked me.

I like families with kids, its very necessary; 
They give birth to hot gay men!
I just wish they all liked me,
At least just one.

They give birth to hot gay men.
Who doesn’t like a crowded, loud, thumping, tea dance?
At least just one?     (Whining)
Who doesn’t like the gay community?

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