Gordon W. Mannenga
Gordon W. Mennenga grew up in a small Iowa town and has worked as a field hand, a truck driver, a wedding singer, a high school English teacher, and a college professor of creative writing and film studies. Publications include work in Jabberwock Literary Review, North American Review, South 85, Epoch, and Hamilton Stone Review. He made his first appearance on Spotify last year. Gordon’s work has been featured on National Publish Radio and produced by the Riverside Theatre Company.
The Recognitions
The pill you swallow will always be the sugar pill.
Going up, going down, both require the best shoes.
What to do with too many peaches, rubber bands, clocks, husbands,
Too many pictures of women in gardens, too many ifs,
Too many dreams where someone says “get out of my house.”
It takes a suit to make a lawyer, it takes a horse to make a cowboy.
Cherophobia: the fear of being happy.
There is only one way to make gunsmoke.
A tall woman marries a short man, she reaches for things, he tickles.
Pharmacists know the side effects of hope.
In an afternoon you can cut your hair, your nails, you can cut the crap,
The light, a trail, you can cut across, cut in, out and up.
The president of your senior class lives in poverty in New Mexico.
He’s survived being hit by a piece of space debris,
And his name is not Paul Pancake anymore.
He is a happy man.
A hospice nurse sings to a dying man.
In the morning his bed is empty,
His pillow warm, his shoes are gone.
Sing a song,
Save a life.
Spin the bottle, pick a card, don’t look back.
At night the chairs grow restless and chase the sofa.
At the Cardio Clinic
Little white desk, little white lies
A purple plastic replica of a human heart
Hinged to open for explanation, a heart that never beats
“Moon River” drifting from the ceiling.
Nurse Sandy, dressed in paisley scrubs
Checks my vitals, consults my chart
Touches my hand, her hand a feather
Does she know I’m about to get bad news?
Is she touching a dead man’s hand?
No, she says her heart’s been broken
Her partner vanished, a sunrise surprise
He’s taken the dog , the Wellbutrin, the blender
Now the majesty of sobs, the whisper of apology.
Dr. Dan enters the room, tan leather loafers aglow
Doctor’s cologne, a professional smile
4.3 stars, often a long wait, rude staff
Stethoscope dangling, ignoring Sandy’s heart
For mine, listening to the churning of my heart
Nothing has changed so keep up the meds
Feed the heart the blue, the red, the yellow.
The plastic heart wants to open up, for Sandy.
My heart murmurs its message: can’t be fixed
But Sandy’s can. Dr. Dan is gone, co-pay then I’m out.
In the cave of the heart, we are all on our knees.