JOELLE HANN

SOLITAIRE

When I play solitaire all morning I know
I’m not serious about my life. I let go
Of my loneliness too easily.

A dog snarfs my sandwich.
Black flies in your sunglasses.
The girls watch not just their waistlines
But the watchtowers.

Leave metaphysical questions
For the birds.

This is serious business with the Cheetos™:
Welcome lightening storms
Believe in the God of the Old Testament
And Astrologyzone.com.

When I feel like not getting
Up in the morning
It’s just because of electronic hypnotism

The information age had gripped my meditation
I am a rich text file with no intuition.
Solitaire—the ruiners game.

OVER BREAKFAST

I’m so over breakfast:
Eggs are over it
Milk’s over it
Butter’s over the bagel—yawn—
Coffee boiled over.
It’s so over.
Please. Don’t insist.

Is there too much of me?
It’s called
More and oh-so oh-so. Morose?
More and less-so, lasso. A noose. Strung
Up. It’s called why get up
When breakfast is over? I suspect
Breakfast is a metaphor, a ruse,
A dancing bear, a Russian doll,
One in one in one in one in one
No surprise at the center.
I hate that. I’m over it.

Dairy delights to raise my hackles,
Russians peels onion skins,
Catherine the Great
And my poster project the teacher
Hung in the hall.
If she had not hung it in the hall
In the great glass case
I would not hope now
With eggs and cheese and all.

A lasso is so nice. It’s wild but reigning in.
A noose is so loose it’s useless. Just an idea.
A lasso is so-so.
The song is over.
All the chairs are taken.
Breakfast is over.
Over breakfast I say:
                 Go home.

Joelle Hann grew up on the west coast of Canada and now lives in Brooklyn where she runs the waxpoetic poetry reading series. She has published widely and currently has several projects underway, including Reliquary, an artist's book project. She has received two Canada Council grants, residencies at Banff Center for the Arts, Yaddo, and MacDowell, and holds an MFA and an MA from New York University.