Morgan Michaels Poems

Sad was my heart
half-sunk in brine

its rag of a sail filled
...

Don't mistake dullness
for restraint, my dear.
Only one is limitless.
...

One day after about a year or so of marriage, Miggi invited the General out fishing. The General was a keen fisherman, and awfully fair- only rarely keeping an undersized fish for purely economical reasons. They left the harbor soon after sunrise, in Miggi's inboard. Miggi was a fine mechanic and kept the boat in tip-top repair. The well-rationed General filled the tank. For Miggi, life revolved around the sea since childhood. It calmed him to see its violet and silver glintings and winkings when he felt the onset of evening's restlessness. He also loved the harbor in the morning when the sun bleached everything white and the colors of the boats gleamed, brilliantly and pelicans plied the sky. They puttered through the arms of the Malecon, embarrassed to break the silence. Out at sea, they picked up speed, turned, and headed along the coast, till hours later, they saw the first islets of the Archipelago, its crystal shoals teeming with tarpon. Meanwhile, they drank beer, the only alcoholic beverage harmless in the morning. When the islets began to pass regularly, to starboard and lee, Miggi said to the General, passing a hook through the head of a pilchard and dropping the line overboard.

'There is something I must tell you'.
...

Waiting in the vestibule, Billy studied the nave. He traced its heights, its airy canyons, its decorative clap-trap until he became impatient. Where were they, his friends? Then they turned up, and, after buying tickets at the window, broke into groups. Larry fiddled with his camera-cord until it snapped and the camera fell to the ground with a crash. Together, John and Tamaya marveled at the lamps hung from the rafters, high above them. Tom joined Billy, and together they found seats close to the screen. Soon, they were joined by the rest, and everyone sat down for the show.

Outside, it was getting dark. From the stained-glass the light faded out just as the credits began. Meant to be scary, the old film was only sad. Billy had never seen 'The Phantom Of The Opera' in this version or any. He knew it was from the Twenties and all. A cowled organist played the score from the chancel, adding to the mood. There was plenty of time to catch the sub-titles. People read slower in those days, decided Billy. The niche where the phantom wooed the diva was cool.
...

They stood on the locker room floor
no more, no less than three:
beside a locker door
dressing and chatting leisurely,
...