2 Poems, by John Homan

Chlorine Dreams

It’s 5:45 am.
The water is cold and the vapor lights are buzzing over the pool.
36 laps is a mile.
Laps are counted in fives to not lose count so easily.

One…
Kick, stroke,
kick, stroke,
breathe in, breathe out.
Your head pounds.
The tiled black line below begins to blur as you move.

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out,
Your shoulder aches.
Make the turn, using the wall to spring forward.
Keep swimming.

Two…
The water thickens.
Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out.
“I’m afraid your performance has left us no other choice. “

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out.
“Inject 100 units every night and 30 units before each meal”
Your medic alert necklace jangles as you make the turn.
Keep swimming.

Three…
Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out.
The water darkens with a sinister tint.
She has cancer.

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke
Breathe in, breathe out.
“We’ll have to operate. “
You make the turn.
Keep swimming,

Four…
You stop at the end to catch your breath and clear your mask.
The water grows choppy, pushing back as you start again.

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out,
“I’m sorry; we are denying your application to adopt.”
Make the turn.

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out
“You just aren’t the right match for this child.”
The black line gets smaller as it crosses into the deep.
Keep swimming.

Five…
Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Make the turn.

Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out.
The water clears,
finally yielding to your movements.

It hates you
It hates your presence.
You should stay in the shallows.

You should commit it all to some sloppy version of God’s will,
A syrupy lie that celebrates all inaction as waiting on Him,
Giving Him no loaves or fishes to multiply.

Embracing inertia as a lover,
Sleeping numbly in her frozen arms,

Instead you make the turn.
Kick, stroke,
Kick, stroke,
Breathe in, breathe out.

Every kick a blow,
Every stroke a jab,
Every lap a middle finger.

 

Social Media Biography

(This poem incorporates recycled phrases found on Linkedin profiles
and Twitter marketing accounts along with Homan’s own corporate experiences.)

I don’t know how to put this…but I’m kind of a big deal.
Let me tell you about myself.

I’m a social media consultant,
A marketing strategist,
A people-focused entrepreneur,
And profit centered activist.

I’m a spiritual seeker,
E-commerce healer,
The big data professor,
You’ve been looking for.

I’m ready to combine your paradigms and values,
Into a win-win strategy, with the kind of leadership
That will ignite a passion for action like you’ve never seen before.

I’m a chrome plated champion of
Breaking all the rules,
Changing the way it’s always been,
To how it was meant to be,

I specialize in award winning original content,
Collaboration to solve your unique problems
With a commitment to make the world a happier place,

I detest ties and traditions,
Banishing twentieth century superstitions,
I’m a social media platform on my very own.

Specializing in maximizing non-profit revenue streams.
Start up, step up, shutting down, finishing well, marketing hell,
I’m here for you…

What’s unique about me
Hidden beneath this wall of words,
The same value added progressive specifications,
Spiced with quirkiness and fads

A mountain of buzzwords and vapid phrases ,
And still no personal knowledge is revelated.
I’ve said all of this to say nothing at all.

 

About John Homan

John Homan is a poet and percussionist from the small town of Bend, Oregon. A graduate of Indiana University, John’s work has been described by some as, “if Kafka met Dr. Seuss in a dark alley”. His work has appeared in Chiron Review, Mojave Heart Review, Pulp Poets Press and Quatrain.fish among others. John lives in Elkhart Indiana with his wife and two cats.
For more information visit John’s website: https://about.me/john_homan 

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