POEMOGRAPHY | 2025
Poems by R.M. Usatinsky
pōəˈmäɡrəfē, noun: form or process of writing and representing poetry
MAY
01MAY25 | ONE LAST ADVENTURE
There might just be one last adventure
waiting in the wings; a faraway journey
to a land I’ve only dreamed of; I look at
it this way: if Sting could do it, then why
can’t I? so I’ve been following all these
schemes you see online—houses for a
euro, free money to settle in abandoned
places and virtual ghost towns—but I saw
a new, very intriguing offer: up to a hundred
grand to relocate to one of a dozen or so of
these municipalities in Trentino, in northeast
Italy; they give you a house and money to
fix it up and start anew; maybe a place in the
old town where I can open a barbershop and
teach English and tell stories as the sun goes
down on my life; now wouldn’t that be splendid?
02MAY25 | ANOTHER SHOOTING
There was another shooting in our
sleepy hamlet yesterday, a 41-year-
old Turkish man gunned down at an
outdoor café where families typically
gather on these bright sunny afternoons
during the May vacation; I suppose it’s
the last thing I think about; after all, I
come from the city of Al Capone where
gun violence is a way of life, where you’re
all but immune to bullets flying and people
dying and middle-of-the-night sirens from
the projects waking you from peaceful dreams
in your LaSalle Street midrise; four decades in
Europe and maybe it’s time to start being more
vigilant, grow eyes in the back of my head, keep
my daughters in at night and pray a little more often
03MAY25 | WITLESS
There’s not a kind bone in your body;
nor is there a sensible one; but there is
indifference, cruelty and an erratic way
about you that is unlike anything I have
ever witnessed in another human being;
and the fraudulence you portray is so
very outright and intentional that anyone
can see through your feigned courtesies,
affected accents and heightened sense of
self; no one is impressed and no one can
surmise just how, when or why you took
on this persona, metamorphosed into the
cantankerous blob of vapid ordinariness
that you have become; and yet I am just
as foolhardy, allowing myself to waste
my time and energy scribbling about you
04MAY25 | I WON’T MISS ANYTHING
I keep obsessing over all the things
I will miss; the people, places, food,
films, music, emotions, baseball (oh,
how I will miss baseball!); but once
the obsessing subsided and the harsh
reality of reality kicked in, I realized
that I won’t be missing anything—I
mean, how could I? and I suppose
that’s the paradox, the punchline that
life and its cornball sidekick (death)
deliver with the artfulness of an Abbott
and Costello routine (Who’s on first?);
I won’t be missing anything, because
when you’re dead you’re the one who’s
missed, life doesn’t allow any other way
of managing what is gone once it’s gone
05MAY25 | 140 FILMS
I’ve watched 140 films since the
beginning of the year, mostly as
a way to catch up on the hundreds
of films I missed out on while I
raised five children over the past
28 years when Disney and Pixar
films were the mainstay of my
family’s moviegoing habits; so
now it’s my time to reacquaint
myself with cinema in albeit a
fairly unorthodox way as I make
an effort to watch a film a day for
the remainder of the year; 365 subtle
reminders of the lives I could have had
and the ones I never will; the magic of
movies and the realities they rekindle
06MAY25 | SOME SIMPLE REPAIRS
Our house needs some simple repairs;
we've lived here for a dozen years now
and there’s wear and tear and shifting
floor slats and cracked walls and some
wood that needs looking after on the
stairs and bathroom fixtures that are
past their prime and too much work
in the kitchen to mention; it’s a well-
lived-in house where children have
been raised, where both joyous and
solemn moments have been shared;
where so much life has been lived
and so many emotions spilled out
into every crevice of this place that
has kept us safe, warm and sheltered
from the elements for all these years
07MAY25 | THE SMALL WINDOW
It’s always been there
but I rarely pay it any
attention; the kitchen
window on the side of
the building; a lonely
kind of portal looking
in on our lives, looking
out into the tiny world
of our neighbor’s kitchen
window and balcony where
I caught of glimpse of their
new baby for the first time
a couple of days ago; and if
you stretch your neck a bit,
you can see a tree or two from
the small window in our kitchen
08MAY25 | COLESLAW
I’ve always loved coleslaw;
from childhood family picnics
(where it was always paired
with potato salad) to those
special Sunday family meals
when I would drive over to
Kentucky Fried Chicken with
my mother for buckets, fries,
slaw and corn on the cob; back
in the 70s we could feed our
family of six for about twenty
bucks; yesterday I ordered in
from KFC for my daughter and
I (vegan tenders, order of fries,
corn, and two shakes) and it was
37 euros; they don’t even sell slaw
09MAY25 | FAIRHAVEN
My childhood memories comprise
a wide range of smells, sounds and
sensations; many of those take me
back to Fairhaven, the street where
my aunt, uncle and three first cousins
lived in Woodlands Hills, California;
I learned to swim there, to tie my shoes
there and to ride a bike there; my first
kiss was there (in the guestroom closet
with Debbie Rosen, who lived at the
end of the street); but it’s the smell that
I most recall, that and the snails that
would appear on the front hill, hundreds
of them; and Steve from across the street
high on dope shouting: “hey pops, I fixed
the TV upstairs;” I loved those summers
10MAY25 | THINGS TO ASK YOUR MOTHER ABOUT ONE DAY
There are some things you should ask
your mother about one day: ask her why
she would choose to enter into a fiscal
rather than civil partnership (very odd
considering we already had children
together); ask her who owns the home
we lived in and why there was only one
owner’s name on the deed (hers), and
how she expected me to move on without
any equity, capital or savings; ask her in
how many ways I contributed to our family
by staying home part time (though no one
asked me to or had to) and paying my way
(even with the disparity in our incomes); and
ask her why she was so mean to me and why
she never intervened when she should have
11MAY25 | WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BASEMENT (STAYS IN THE BASEMENT)
I know all too well about what happens
in the basement; after all, I was a teenage
boy with desires and curiosities and never
any privacy to take advantage of the moment;
there were many romantic trysts in these quite
unromantic subterranean hideaways on Rosemont,
Maplewood, Washtenaw and Whipple, where
adrenaline flowed through my veins and passion
was a fleeting passerby, fumbling with bra straps
and button fly buttons and the awkwardness of
unfamiliarity; strange sounds, unsettling smells
and so many peculiar sensations that seemed to
all pass at a breakneck pace that ended as quickly
as they started, interrupted by noises in the hallway,
fears of getting caught with our proverbial pants down;
so yes, I know all too well what happens downstairs
12MAY25 | JOE
It finally happened; I mean, it
was bound to happen eventually,
that a famous (or nearly famous)
person would sit in my chair (and
no, it’s not who you think); it was
Joe, Joe from New York, Joe from
Brooklyn (Crown Heights to be more
exact); he appeared at the door just as
I was dusting off my last customer of
the night; he wanted a shave (he needed
a shave!); done for the night, I said, but
I can do a machine shave if that works;
Joe and his wife and daughter came in
and I got busy with his thick Turkish
stubble; Joe’s a novelist, five books and
some fancy accolades; a first of firsts
13MAY25 | DAWN
There are birds
and creamy clouds;
baby blue skies that
carry each element on
its palette meticulously;
tree tops that gently move
as the cool morning breeze
rushes in and out of newly
sprouted leaves so rich and
so deeply colored by the
kiss of spring and magic
powers of our blazing star;
and as the giant ball of fire
peeks through the branches
setting my soul alight, I am
reminded of all that’s good
14MAY25 | WHAT WOULD BERNIE THINK
I wonder what Bernie would think,
think about the mess I’ve made of
my life (well, just the variety of all
the small messes as it hasn’t been all
that messy really); I know he’d give
me a piece of his mind, and he’d
surely let me know what he thought
about all the shiksas I’ve been with
(except, of course, for my first wife
who he loved); but he’d certainly have
a thing or two to say about the rest of
them; he’d love the girls (though he’d
hate their mother (and he wasn’t one
to hate); and he would be proudest that
I became a barber (a real job!), like his
old barber Stan who became a teacher
15MAY25 | A NAP AND A SHAVE
I suppose all it takes to get me back
on track is a nice hot shower, shave
and a nap; you could say that’s my
personal trinity of self-care and one
that definitely helps me to put things
into better perspective (and I seem to
be struggling to put things into better
perspective these days); problem is
that I’ve been a bit distracted lately––
watching movies, writing poems and
cutting hair––you know, my everyday
routines; and I’ve been cleaning out
the litter box more often, and keeping
the bathrooms clean and the laundry
caught up on; but a nap and a shave is
what I need most today; nap comes first
16MAY25 | INHERITANCE
All that matters to you is the money,
the property, that’s what inheritance
means to you, making sure that your
daughters are provided for, that they
have a roof over their heads; I mean
anyone would think that was a good
enough plan; but what about all the
other things you could have bestowed
upon your children, like humility and
compassion, love and benevolence, the
things you were never able to provide;
those basic traits of humanity you were
never quite human enough to bequeath
upon your offspring; and those are the
very sad gifts you’ll leave behind, ones
of indifference, contempt and animosity
17MAY25 | HOW TO STEAL A HOUSE
There are many ways to steal a
house; I recall seeing old black
and white photographs of these
huge buildings being moved on
slats and wheels from one place
to another; literally entire stone,
brick and glass structures surely
weighing tons being relocated as
if they were children’s toy houses
built from popsicle sticks; perhaps
cranes or helicopters could lift the
house off its foundation and fly it
across town to its new lot, setting
it gently upon a dry, freshly laid
one; or, I suppose, you could just
devise the perfect plan like you did
18MAY25 | EGG SALAD
It was the second time this week
that I ate all the egg salad and you
voiced your displeasure for all the
world to hear; you’ll use any and
all opportunities to shame me in
front of the children, vocalize your
disdain and resentment adding to
their collective recollection of how
bad a person their father was (how
dare he eat all the egg salad—and
twice in one week!); and on this
occasion, like so many occasions
of late, I chose to remain silent, not
giving in to the taunting, holding my
tongue and wondering why you couldn’t
hard boil a few eggs and make your own
19MAY25 | DARSIE
I won’t hold it against you for not remembering me;
it’s not like I was a standout or a shining star in your
classroom; I was a mediocre student (at best), night
school was a challenge while juggling teaching days,
waiting tables at the weekends and being newly married;
I saw you again—in Paris of all places—a chance encounter
more than a dozen years ago; you were attending a conference
and our paths crossed near the venue (you were polite enough
to say you remembered me); last night I dreamed of you,
asking if I could store some things in your garden shed and
disappointed when you rejected my request; this morning,
while looking up your contact details I stumbled upon the
poem you wrote about your father, a beautiful tribute to
him (and to baseball in my humble interpretation) and of
course it hit home having lost my father recently, a father
from whom I inherited my lifelong passion for the game
20MAY25 | WOODY (AND OTHER NICKNAMES)
I almost forgot that I used to call you
Woody; it’s not that it slipped my mind,
but it’s just been so long since we were
we that it no longer occurred to me; but
then again, I nickname everyone (like
that rapper Boldy James in his song
Moochie); there’s Fru and Fenstrom,
Dwafid and Booby, Plunique and my
very own Moochie (my daughter whose
nickname this is was born before the
Boldy James tune was released!); I come
up with nicknames out of love and, well,
of course, endearment; I even nicknamed
one of my daughter’s stuffed animal shark
(who doesn’t actually have a real name)
after Cubs relief pitcher Keegan Thompson
21MAY25 | THE WORLD WITHOUT ME
I’m finally beginning to understand
mortality—the insignificance even
the most significant of human beings
possess; we’re no one, born into a
universe of nothingness, a void with
only particles of stardust, some of
which are endowed with senses and
emotion, the ability to feel pain and
pleasure, to contemplate what lower
beings could never imagine (which is
a blessing in many ways); and every
day I die a little more, inching closer
to becoming an imperceptible memory,
one that will quickly fade in the currents
of time; the world without me will go on,
my presence only remembered by the sun
22MAY25 | ZAYDE’S DRESSER
If you were to ask me if there was
one sound I most recall that defined
my childhood, it would be the sound
of my great-grandfather opening and
closing the drawers on his mahogany
American Chippendale-style highboy;
there was a distinctive clanging made
by the brass bail pulls that not only
resonates in my memory, but is part
of my everyday life as I’ve now owned
that dresser for at least as many years as
my zayde did; my grandparents first gave
it to me when I went to DePaul and rented
a small studio near school; my mom later
shipped it over to Spain in 2001 and now
it resides in my room here in the Netherlands
23MAY25 | SIGRID
It was all too many years ago,
the party at your house (was it
Agoura or Thousand Oaks?) I
must have been around twenty-
two, living (for the second time)
on Arch Drive in Studio City, in
the apartment where the Marlboro
Man lived when I’d first lived in
that complex in the summer of 1982;
I’d shared that bed with a lot of girls
in ’86, two of your closest friends, in
fact; they just showed up one night and
that was that; so that night at your party
(we had only met an hour before) you
hurried me off to an upstairs bathroom,
then it came, a subtle knock on the door