Sample Poems by Greg Moglia

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My Red Dress

So easy for a woman, a bit of cleavage
A peek of skin at her shoulder … her back
I need to find the hottest item in my closet
What does a guy like me wear?

Once heard a lover mock my friend Clark
‘He has no butt’ and I thought
Ok what could he wear?
Football pads?

Look at her in that red dress
That cling—those curves
We men stand at attention.
Where do we go? No easy call to the wild

And I forgot their shoes
They all have at least one pair
Fuck me pumps!
Meanwhile for me

Ever hear of a fuck me loafer?
A fuck me shirt and tie?
Where’s my red dress?
Where’s my fuck me anything?

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The Lover’s Gift

Christmas time and Carly hands me the oversized box
I think some bulky sweater—a never wear—but look here
J. Crew green winter coat, a fit and slick…yes
She sees me wear it every frosty day to our school

Until our split the next year—then the coat sinks deep in my closet
Too good to throw out but too hurtful a reminder
The post-school romance days become an exercise in pain reduction
Workplace love gone sour we pretend to be friends

My crushed heart retains a hope for change
And Carly…dear love Carly…Carly always around
Soon in her quiet way she takes up with the Spanish teacher
No announcement, no hallway hugs and kisses—all subtle

Lunch with him every day and a small giveaway when she brings
Her pooch to work and the dog gives exclusive cuddles to Mr. Spanish
Then a year later the first school day after Christmas
My Carly must have forgotten about us

Here’s Mr. Spanish always dressed as overweight everyman
On this day he looks almost sharp, almost as if he stole into my closet
for the lover’s gift I so wanted to lose reappears
Mr. Spanish walks by in his very own J. Crew green winter coat

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Father’s Day Dinner

Mother; ever date another smart guy
You know, like Dad?
Oh, yes she says In high school Carl Hein
Nice, handsome German boy

And his father owned a pineapple farm in Hawaii
Mother, was he smart?
You see we went to the movies
Rochester winter and nobody had a car

You walked in the cold
Well, his nose started to run
Snot came down
And froze above his lip

I couldn’t say anything
my friend Madeline came by
I introduced him
And almost broke out laughing

But Mom was he smart?
Well, his father owned a pineapple farm in Hawaii
So his father wasn’t home much?
Oh, once in winter and once in spring

And mother you love pineapples?
Oh, you know that!

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Everyone’s Become A Poet

Holy shit, everyone’s a poet
I leaf through pages and pages of conferences in Poets and Writers
Here’s one in Missoula, Montana featuring Shaun O’Seacliff
Specializes in poems about crayfish and the unique quality of their love affairs

Look here Tendura Abstraction is at the Rejection Ranch in Provo, Utah
Ad says no one can forget her poem
‘The Metaphysics of Metaphysics’
Winner of the Grey Mountain Prize

Or here, Sandra McNeedle performance poet star
She recreates the moans and screeches of the heroin addict
With an ease that the TIMES called stunning…not to be missed
Well, I have never heard of any of these people

But then I see that my favorite Ute Pulitzer will be reading
Ute has published 7 books each on one of his lovers and preferred positions
And has told us his plan to do 18 more for a total of 25
I love the details of his confessions—so real—what a man

That’s tonight at seven at the Swan Lake Café followed by an open mike
My spirits rise then I remember how the host recently instituted a protection
From the ‘Wow, someone to listen to me’ reader—ready to go on forever
With a 24 second per poem clock and me with nothing under thirty seconds

I decide to pick up my National Geographic
Begin to read about the intelligence of porpoises
Oh God, not animals as well
Open mike tonight at the aquarium