Bob Bradshaw

Two Poems

The Stammer

As I pierced the water in a high dive
Judy was in the bleachers
cheering. The smell of chlorine
that season was as sweet

as any perfume.

The school dance
was approaching as fast as any test.
I longed
to ask Judy out.
She leaned in her garden
of herbs and perfumes towards me

but when my mouth opened
out came a jackhammer stutter.

I was like a coyote who’s tried to cross
through its first barbed wire.
Flailing I ensnared myself more,
and exhausted I watched Judy

slip down the hallway, covering
her mouth as if my stammer
was an airborne disease.

Turkey Vultures

They’re red faced and bald
and couples usually mate for life.

While one shops for supper
the other putters at home,
incubating the clutch.

They savor hearty meals. But like
any large family gathered
at a dinner table, they’re not shy
voicing their opinions,

hissing at those
with rude table manners.

Like us, sociable but shy,
they make good lovers,
and live out contented lives,

indifferent or unaware of their less
than photogenic allure