Poetry by Richard-Yves Sitoski

               ​Nicolas Henderson CC



What I Bring to the Table

Not my conversation, a collage of scraps overheard from restaurant patrons.

Not my midnight, whose foreman is a moon with a white hardhat and a rolled-up blueprint.

Not my mind, which, if a river, is teeming with carp.

Not my will to live, once likened to a pickup truck that runs OK but gets shit mileage.

Not my sky, abounding in snowflakes like down from a burst pillow.

Not my solar system, with subway stops on planets you wouldn't be caught dead on after dark.

Not my soul, iridescent like a puddle of gasoline.

Not my feet, worn down from stopping the Flintstones car of my urge to escape.

Not the palms of my hands, the lifelines ending abruptly like a heartbeat when a stethoscope is cut.

But my love, which fits you tight as shrink wrap, which fits you like a throat fits a scalding draft of coffee, or an envelope fits a cash payment. Which possesses you, holding you suspended like the notes of "Let's Get Lost" in Chet Baker's broken jaw.

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The Golden Age of Country Music

The drawl was a panel wagon driven slowly at night
so as not to arouse suspicion.
The pedal steel notes were teeth in a smile
that had lost the will to live.
The hi-hat hits were coins in a sack
once the bank account was drained.
The Nudie jacket had constellations that guided you
so deep in the desert sidewinders sounded like Jesus.
The trap kit shuffle was the scrape of shovels
as graves were being dug.
And each song grew fainter
as we walked deeper in the pines,
snatches of music little shots of nicotine
as I took you to a glade the moon had forgotten.
A place with no way out for crying brides
or young men in uniforms
with all their mortal doubts 
tucked between cheek and gum.

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Richard-Yves Sitoski is a songwriter, spoken word artist and the 2019-2021 Poet Laureate of Owen Sound, Ontario, Canada. He has released two books of verse, brownfields (Ginger Press, 2014) and Downmarket Oldies FM Station Blues (Ginger Press, 2018), and a CD of spoken word poetry, Word Salad (2017). He came within 8 years of obtaining a Ph.D. in Classics. His house is drafty, his wife is patient, and his cat is impossible.

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