Tennyson Probably Never Had Pink Eye and Two More by Richard LeDue

Richard LeDue currently lives and teaches in Norway House, Manitoba, Canada, where the winter nights are long and cold. This is why he writes so much poetry in the winter months, but he also hates the heat, so the summer months also prove productive. It is almost a guarantee that any of his work that speaks of nature is based on pure hearsay.


Tennyson Probably Never Had Pink Eye

They want aspiring poet laureates,
not a guy who writes about squirrels
in his garbage cans, and can’t figure out
how to potty train his four year old
autistic son. They want someone
who won’t forget to wear gloves
every-time those same squirrels eat
around old diapers, or who’ll
remember to wash his hands
before removing his contact lenses.


Brothers and Sisters

Abandoned among tall grass,
he panics,
runs so hard that the tomato soup
from lunch jumps up his throat,
burns away his fear,
leaves only anger,
while his older sister laughs-
all part of an ancient game
that no one bothered to give a name.


Statement of Claim

How much flesh has been sold
in these grocery coolers?
Written in black Comic Sans,
a blood red sign exclaims
that the veal is sold out
again
next to pre-cooked chicken,
long dead in a box.
Even produce section stinks
of pesticides-
I want a refund for a life
dependent on buying food like this.