Saturday, July 28, 2018


On A Hunger: At Bottaio

reading slowly, precisely, these
exquisite hyperreal sentences, images

like DalĂ­’s ink drawings found in 
that remote Catalan village

or dream paintings, dissolving
time, or an enlarged nightmare, 

story, all process and
excellence of materials, stories 

about materials themselves
a joke on the expertise

as it were, yet moving
into a thing indescribable

and then I wake up


copyright © 2018 by patrick o’hayer

Sunday, July 22, 2018

police story: a fragment

(for clancy sigal)

my ex-cop brother screws me over, so i go to his saloon, at foster and oakley, to have it out - we exchange words - i decide to punch him in the head, and start to walk around the bar to do so - his goons (regular customers) grab me and spread-eagle me on the pool table

should we fuck him up, danny?

nah, just throw him out

they throw me into the yard behind the joint, a weed patch filled with bricks, broken glass, and dog shit - i pick up a brick and walk around, planning to break his storefront window - i change my mind

instead i stop in the joint across the street and within 30 seconds i'm slugging it out with the asshole owner and land out on foster ave

i head home, foster ave bus to the L train - i wake up at the end on the line, at howard st, and start insulting two chicago cops, there on anti-mugging duty - i am taken into custody and deposited in the drunk tank at the summerdale station, down the street from the saloons - i use my phone call to contact my asshole saloon-keeper brother, home asleep after closing

he arrives in a cab, which waits, dukes the watch sergeant (whom he knows, or knows how to talk to), and i'm released into the night (no arrest record, no bail, nuttin') - big brother sends me home in the cab after he gets dropped off

this is going on your tab, is all he says


copyright © 2012 by patrick o'hayer

Sunday, April 8, 2018


WHAT'S HER NAME?

the barista sports some
extravagant get-ups
but best is her
black chunky boots, torn
fishnets with black
micro-mini skirt, usually
under a flowy large sweater
leaving much to the drinker's
imagination--yes!
a public service!


copyright © 2018 by patrick o'hayer




SMALL PLEASURES

a night cool, crisp 
cloudless

tomorrow a full moon but
tonight my beloved
egg shaped 

moon returns, severe
dazzling and white-silver

it obscures the half-dozen
brightish points 
cosmologists call

stars, cosmology 
my weakest suit 

no stargazing here
in a suburb of the great
american city, no 

only swirls
of smoke from my

unfiltered american cigaret
if i relax my gaze
the antique streetlamp

at the foot of my driveway
comes out of focus

and light swirls
as in a later van gogh
small pleasures

they . . . sustain


copyright © 2018 by patrick o'hayer