I live with my wife in a northern exurb of Westchester, surrounded by privilege and abundant natural beauty. My poems derive more from human nature, however, and my mind has been shaped by years of pop culture: countless hours of music, films, television, news, and more. Through teaching, I get to share my love of literature and the importance of responsible journalism. My poems and short stories have been published in numerous journals. My first collection, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press), can be found on Amazon.com. A chapbook, Memory Marries Desire, will be out in March. It currently can be pre-ordered at FinishingLinePress.com.
They all looked so clean cut:
sharp angles, healthy curves, fine features,
chiseled to an All-American profile.
They presented variations on a theme,
handsome boys who played trombone,
fetching girls who danced quite seriously,
each successive one in their many numbers
slightly different from respective predecessor.
They stood up proudly for each other,
as if a team, an army, a legion of sorts.
You could see them in attendance
at plays and band recitals, taking up
whole rows in the school auditorium,
watching performing brothers and sisters,
stately grandparents mixed in with
older and younger brethren,
rooting as one for the filial cause.
My dysfunctional family could not have
been more disparate:
small, bickering, miserable,
raising argument to an art form.
Maybe that explains my love and envy,
watching those pretty faces
devoted to watching kith and kin,
wearing secret smiles, an inner society
which I could never hope to join.
While my heart realized
no family could manage
such an aura of perfect paradise,
they seemed to master the illusion.
I studied them before the lights went down
and during lengthy intermissions,
longing in dreams to be accepted
as one of their brethren band,
sitting in those long rows,
one of the beautiful family.
©2016 Gary Glauber