4 Poems by Maxwell Rabb

pass me the remote, click the
button or hand me the
remote—do not point that at
me it is dangerous—i don’t
know my age but i am too young
to change channels
to open up
the attic and find family
portraits family members whose
names disappeared shortly after
they were buried
before their names eroded off their 
gravestones, i hope someone
places my nintendo in my 
suit pocket
i hope someone remember
to charge it
animal planet is on
it is the planet
we animals
i felt distant from the animals and
steve irwin but i still think of
them. lying in the water
how do i survive the ocean – i am not
meant to be there – i am not
steve, i want the remote
i am afraid of the ocean
drinking until my eyes
are bloodthirsty
blood red
head rushing with the
sound of breaking 
clouds red with
hammers shining
reflections of a 
divine furnace
the metal rings in
my ears 
my dad did not
give me earplugs
listening to heavy 
metal ringing
eye drops pour
to close my
i see the forest


tooth chipped on the desk
forgetting how to spell my
            name in class
how can the world spin if
             i can’t feel it
if i can’t feel after hearing
             my name becomes
synonymous with forgotten
incapable of putting words on
the air without a stutter
ripping pages out of my
hair how do i spell
             “the sunlight twitches”
without my name
i can remember my teacher but
her lessons are lost in the 
the sight of snow from
my dog’s eyes
i understand
him for one moment
confused and cold during an
imagined silence
an uproar whispered to 
me directly under
winter, i
hate the cold but love
my dog when he