it's bad news,
the early call, the late night call.
it's never good.
sometimes it's
a medical issue,
an accident, a death,
a tragic break up
with crying on the other end,
or sometimes, as it is lately,
someone with a florida
number
trying to get you to refinance
at these new
historically low rates.
they can't believe they
have a human
voice on the line, and struggle
to pronounce your name,
before they begin
their rap.
you don't hate them, waking
you up, like they do
in the middle of the night,
but there are things
with a knitting needle
that you imagine
doing to them.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
historically low rates
it's bad news,
the early call, the late night call.
it's never good.
sometimes it's
a medical issue,
an accident, a death,
a tragic break up
with crying on the other end,
or sometimes, as it is lately,
someone with a florida
number
trying to get you to refinance
at these new
historically low rates.
they can't believe they
have a human
voice on the line, and struggle
to pronounce your name,
before they begin
their rap.
you don't hate them, waking
you up, like they do
in the middle of the night,
but there are things
with a knitting needle
that you imagine
doing to them.
the early call, the late night call.
it's never good.
sometimes it's
a medical issue,
an accident, a death,
a tragic break up
with crying on the other end,
or sometimes, as it is lately,
someone with a florida
number
trying to get you to refinance
at these new
historically low rates.
they can't believe they
have a human
voice on the line, and struggle
to pronounce your name,
before they begin
their rap.
you don't hate them, waking
you up, like they do
in the middle of the night,
but there are things
with a knitting needle
that you imagine
doing to them.
the fish monger
I could bring you back
some fish, he says, maybe some tuna,
i'll sell them
to you cheap. my buddy's got a boat
and we're going out today.
you like tuna, don't you?
sure, I tell him, but I think
I already have three or four
little cans stack
in the cupboard. green with Charlie
on the side.
oh no, he says, there's nothing
like fresh tuna
caught right out of the ocean.
he's been drinking a little,
and continues
with his selling of the fish
he may or may not catch.
you don't like fish?
fish is brain food, it's good
for you. it makes you
more healthy and smarter.
okay, okay, I say, as I listen
to the exhaust and pop of another
can of beer on his end.
who doesn't want to be smarter.
i'll take one large tuna
if you catch any, but with
the head cut off and fileted
into nice steak sized portions.
how about two, he says. two tunas,
wrapped in newspaper, you do
the cutting?
sure. sure. okay,
bring me the stinking fish.
some fish, he says, maybe some tuna,
i'll sell them
to you cheap. my buddy's got a boat
and we're going out today.
you like tuna, don't you?
sure, I tell him, but I think
I already have three or four
little cans stack
in the cupboard. green with Charlie
on the side.
oh no, he says, there's nothing
like fresh tuna
caught right out of the ocean.
he's been drinking a little,
and continues
with his selling of the fish
he may or may not catch.
you don't like fish?
fish is brain food, it's good
for you. it makes you
more healthy and smarter.
okay, okay, I say, as I listen
to the exhaust and pop of another
can of beer on his end.
who doesn't want to be smarter.
i'll take one large tuna
if you catch any, but with
the head cut off and fileted
into nice steak sized portions.
how about two, he says. two tunas,
wrapped in newspaper, you do
the cutting?
sure. sure. okay,
bring me the stinking fish.
mornings like this
the cold and rain
allows you slip back under the sheets
and sleep
some more.
how nice it is
to be nowhere, to go nowhere,
to not have a clock
to punch,
an appointment to keep.
the world has
slowed down
to a near stop.
only the sound and smell
of coffee brewing
is in the house.
you need mornings like this,
to handle
the rest.
allows you slip back under the sheets
and sleep
some more.
how nice it is
to be nowhere, to go nowhere,
to not have a clock
to punch,
an appointment to keep.
the world has
slowed down
to a near stop.
only the sound and smell
of coffee brewing
is in the house.
you need mornings like this,
to handle
the rest.
Friday, April 29, 2016
she wanted to go camping
she wanted to go camping.
I didn't.
she wanted to hike along
the mountain trail
and make camp beside a stream.
fish,
gather rocks and sticks
to build a fire.
she wanted
to bathe in the cold water,
study the birds.
listen to the wolves,
the crickets.
the sound of nothing but
wind
circling the tops of trees.
she wanted to sleep on the ground,
be one with nature.
I didn't.
I suggested the holiday
inn, right down the road,
with room service and a bar.
so we never went.
she went with her next boyfriend.
he was wearing
a red plaid shirt
when i saw them together.
they both had on
their back packs and boots.
they were studying a map
marking their path.
this made me happy,
seeing her happy.
I didn't.
she wanted to hike along
the mountain trail
and make camp beside a stream.
fish,
gather rocks and sticks
to build a fire.
she wanted
to bathe in the cold water,
study the birds.
listen to the wolves,
the crickets.
the sound of nothing but
wind
circling the tops of trees.
she wanted to sleep on the ground,
be one with nature.
I didn't.
I suggested the holiday
inn, right down the road,
with room service and a bar.
so we never went.
she went with her next boyfriend.
he was wearing
a red plaid shirt
when i saw them together.
they both had on
their back packs and boots.
they were studying a map
marking their path.
this made me happy,
seeing her happy.
sunshine
there are those
that are too happy, too bright
and sunny, so much
so
that you can hardly look at them.
it's hurts your eyes
to stare into such
unequivocal joy.
pure sunshine.
you feel like they might be
faking it though,
because you know
about the money problems,
the divorce,
the kid in rehab, the old
car. the doctor's report.
everything
coming from their mouths is
candy.
peachy.
rosy.
you want to take them by
the hand
and tell them to sit down.
to cry.
to curse the world and all
the bad luck
they've run into. but you don't.
you aren't that good
of a friend,
and you're feeling a little blue,
yourself today.
that are too happy, too bright
and sunny, so much
so
that you can hardly look at them.
it's hurts your eyes
to stare into such
unequivocal joy.
pure sunshine.
you feel like they might be
faking it though,
because you know
about the money problems,
the divorce,
the kid in rehab, the old
car. the doctor's report.
everything
coming from their mouths is
candy.
peachy.
rosy.
you want to take them by
the hand
and tell them to sit down.
to cry.
to curse the world and all
the bad luck
they've run into. but you don't.
you aren't that good
of a friend,
and you're feeling a little blue,
yourself today.
pill happy
a pill or two,
or three
to sleep, another for the food
you ate.
one for
the headache,
another for
affection.
a pill to wake up with,
a pill
to stop sneezing.
a pill
to lower your blood
pressure,
to improve your mood,
to be likable, lovable,
numb
to a world that's
blue.
or three
to sleep, another for the food
you ate.
one for
the headache,
another for
affection.
a pill to wake up with,
a pill
to stop sneezing.
a pill
to lower your blood
pressure,
to improve your mood,
to be likable, lovable,
numb
to a world that's
blue.
business as usual
when the boy
becomes a thief, it's hard
to understand.
a dollar here, a dollar there.
when he robs
those he loves not with a sword,
or gun,
or knife, but
with a fountain pen,
you shake your head
and wonder why.
it's not evil, or malicious,
it's just business as usual
for him.
becomes a thief, it's hard
to understand.
a dollar here, a dollar there.
when he robs
those he loves not with a sword,
or gun,
or knife, but
with a fountain pen,
you shake your head
and wonder why.
it's not evil, or malicious,
it's just business as usual
for him.
business as usual
when the boy
becomes a thief, it's hard
to understand.
a dollar here, a dollar there.
when he robs
those he loves not with a sword,
or gun,
or knife, but
with a fountain pen,
you shake your head
and wonder why.
it's not evil, or malicious,
it's just business as usual
for him.
becomes a thief, it's hard
to understand.
a dollar here, a dollar there.
when he robs
those he loves not with a sword,
or gun,
or knife, but
with a fountain pen,
you shake your head
and wonder why.
it's not evil, or malicious,
it's just business as usual
for him.
the fainting spell
in the big store
you feel like
you might faint, so you say
I feel kind of dizzy
to no one in particular,
grabbing onto
a rack of clothes marked
seventy per cent off.
the fluorescent light is
a million black dots,
like buzzing flies
trying
to congeal and go dark.
there is the warm glow of
sleep approaching.
you worry about hitting your
head on the tiled floor, so
you take a seat
beside an old woman with
knee stockings
and a sandwich in her hand.
ham and cheese.
she stops eating to look
at you.
there is lettuce between her teeth.
are you alright, she says.
you look pale,
like you might faint,
or something.
it's the lights in here,
she says,
the music, the smell.
you have to eat something
when you shop here,
she puts the sandwich
in front of your mouth.
you take a bite, then her drink,
the long straw finding your parched
lips. you suck in a gulp
of soda and murmur thanks.
I come here every day, she
says. you have to pace
yourself.
you feel like
you might faint, so you say
I feel kind of dizzy
to no one in particular,
grabbing onto
a rack of clothes marked
seventy per cent off.
the fluorescent light is
a million black dots,
like buzzing flies
trying
to congeal and go dark.
there is the warm glow of
sleep approaching.
you worry about hitting your
head on the tiled floor, so
you take a seat
beside an old woman with
knee stockings
and a sandwich in her hand.
ham and cheese.
she stops eating to look
at you.
there is lettuce between her teeth.
are you alright, she says.
you look pale,
like you might faint,
or something.
it's the lights in here,
she says,
the music, the smell.
you have to eat something
when you shop here,
she puts the sandwich
in front of your mouth.
you take a bite, then her drink,
the long straw finding your parched
lips. you suck in a gulp
of soda and murmur thanks.
I come here every day, she
says. you have to pace
yourself.
finding gold
your knees hurt
from panning gold. from kneeling
in the wet ground
beside the stream.
your hands are cold.
you find enough to get by.
shaking the tray
until a few
golden pebbles glimmer
in the fading light.
your back aches, your vision
is blurry.
it's a hard life.
no one's to blame, perhaps
if you had
never found that one
large stone,
things would have changed.
from panning gold. from kneeling
in the wet ground
beside the stream.
your hands are cold.
you find enough to get by.
shaking the tray
until a few
golden pebbles glimmer
in the fading light.
your back aches, your vision
is blurry.
it's a hard life.
no one's to blame, perhaps
if you had
never found that one
large stone,
things would have changed.
the ring
it's the diamond you see
first.
large, grape sized on her finger.
her hand
stretches out
across the table.
flat, and empty, except
for the ring
that catches light.
what else is there to talk
about,
but the ring.
everything else is diminished
by it's power,
or so she thinks.
first.
large, grape sized on her finger.
her hand
stretches out
across the table.
flat, and empty, except
for the ring
that catches light.
what else is there to talk
about,
but the ring.
everything else is diminished
by it's power,
or so she thinks.
the ring
it's the diamond you see
first.
large, grape sized on her finger.
her hand
stretches out
across the table.
flat, and empty, except
for the ring
that catches light.
what else is there to talk
about,
but the ring.
everything else is diminished
by it's power,
or so she thinks.
first.
large, grape sized on her finger.
her hand
stretches out
across the table.
flat, and empty, except
for the ring
that catches light.
what else is there to talk
about,
but the ring.
everything else is diminished
by it's power,
or so she thinks.
how it happens
how it happens
is hard to know, how one
goes
one way into darkness,
the other
a higher road.
what decides
our fate, our destination,
a whim,
a feeling,
a conscious decision,
or something else beyond
us,
beyond reason.
a kind and loving God,
or one
who does little
but watch, and wait.
is hard to know, how one
goes
one way into darkness,
the other
a higher road.
what decides
our fate, our destination,
a whim,
a feeling,
a conscious decision,
or something else beyond
us,
beyond reason.
a kind and loving God,
or one
who does little
but watch, and wait.
how it happens
how it happens
is hard to know, how one
goes
one way into darkness,
the other
a higher road.
what decides
our fate, our destination,
a whim,
a feeling,
a conscious decision,
or something else beyond
us,
beyond reason.
a kind and loving God,
or one
who does little
but watch, and wait.
is hard to know, how one
goes
one way into darkness,
the other
a higher road.
what decides
our fate, our destination,
a whim,
a feeling,
a conscious decision,
or something else beyond
us,
beyond reason.
a kind and loving God,
or one
who does little
but watch, and wait.
the apples
the dead
gain luster the moment
they pass.
we shine them
up like apples.
hardly a worm is found,
or spot gone
soft and brown.
they are forever red
or green,
picked ripe in season,
rarely left to rot
upon the ground.
gain luster the moment
they pass.
we shine them
up like apples.
hardly a worm is found,
or spot gone
soft and brown.
they are forever red
or green,
picked ripe in season,
rarely left to rot
upon the ground.
the world you live in
the less you say,
the wiser they think you are.
think, not know.
still, impressions are
everything,
as you babble on and on
about nothing.
passionate about the mundane,
observing
the simple ticks and troubles
of those around you,
including you,
writing them
down to go unread or read
in this silent world
you live in.
the wiser they think you are.
think, not know.
still, impressions are
everything,
as you babble on and on
about nothing.
passionate about the mundane,
observing
the simple ticks and troubles
of those around you,
including you,
writing them
down to go unread or read
in this silent world
you live in.
the world you live in
the less you say,
the wiser they think you are.
think, not know.
still, impressions are
everything,
as you babble on and on
about nothing.
passionate about the mundane,
observing
the simple ticks and troubles
of those around you,
including you,
writing them
down to go unread or read
in this silent world
you live in.
the wiser they think you are.
think, not know.
still, impressions are
everything,
as you babble on and on
about nothing.
passionate about the mundane,
observing
the simple ticks and troubles
of those around you,
including you,
writing them
down to go unread or read
in this silent world
you live in.
fitting in
when young
things were altered.
your legs grew, your arms,
sleeves
had to lengthened,
pants let out.
shoes
were discarded for
larger shoes.
you adjusted everything
each year,
more happy, more sullen,
who should you be,
everything so undecided
for so long,
taking great care to change
to fit in,
until now.
where you hope not to.
things were altered.
your legs grew, your arms,
sleeves
had to lengthened,
pants let out.
shoes
were discarded for
larger shoes.
you adjusted everything
each year,
more happy, more sullen,
who should you be,
everything so undecided
for so long,
taking great care to change
to fit in,
until now.
where you hope not to.
fitting in
when young
things were altered.
your legs grew, your arms,
sleeves
had to lengthened,
pants let out.
shoes
were discarded for
larger shoes.
you adjusted everything
each year,
more happy, more sullen,
who should you be,
everything so undecided
for so long,
taking great care to change
to fit in,
until now.
where you hope not to.
things were altered.
your legs grew, your arms,
sleeves
had to lengthened,
pants let out.
shoes
were discarded for
larger shoes.
you adjusted everything
each year,
more happy, more sullen,
who should you be,
everything so undecided
for so long,
taking great care to change
to fit in,
until now.
where you hope not to.
the velvet rope
after the decorator
designed the room, picked
the colors,
mauves
and red, a touch of grey.
a long couch,
restored to look like
an era long
since gone away,
placed on the mantle
the antique vase,
they put up a velvet rope
in front of the entry
way. stately lamps,
a muted
chandelier hung low.
from the hall you could
see but not enter,
or touch the new room.
old but new.
the oil painting they
paid too much for
because it looked like
a couple who resembled
them, on the beach,
along the coast
against a sea of blue.
designed the room, picked
the colors,
mauves
and red, a touch of grey.
a long couch,
restored to look like
an era long
since gone away,
placed on the mantle
the antique vase,
they put up a velvet rope
in front of the entry
way. stately lamps,
a muted
chandelier hung low.
from the hall you could
see but not enter,
or touch the new room.
old but new.
the oil painting they
paid too much for
because it looked like
a couple who resembled
them, on the beach,
along the coast
against a sea of blue.
the velvet rope
after the decorator
designed the room, picked
the colors,
mauves
and red, a touch of grey.
a long couch,
restored to look like
an era long
since gone away,
placed on the mantle
the antique vase,
they put up a velvet rope
in front of the entry
way. stately lamps,
a muted
chandelier hung low.
from the hall you could
see but not enter,
or touch the new room.
old but new.
the oil painting they
paid too much for
because it looked like
a couple who resembled
them, on the beach,
along the coast
against a sea of blue.
designed the room, picked
the colors,
mauves
and red, a touch of grey.
a long couch,
restored to look like
an era long
since gone away,
placed on the mantle
the antique vase,
they put up a velvet rope
in front of the entry
way. stately lamps,
a muted
chandelier hung low.
from the hall you could
see but not enter,
or touch the new room.
old but new.
the oil painting they
paid too much for
because it looked like
a couple who resembled
them, on the beach,
along the coast
against a sea of blue.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
what happens in the dentist office stays
I begin by telling my dentist
how beautiful she looks today.
did you lose weight or something.
fall in love?
my god there's an aura about you.
heaven must be missing an angel.
why thank you.
very kind of you to say. I am
actually seeing someone.
you are quite perceptive.
she turns her head, blushing.
can I ask you something, I say
to her, it's sort of a favor?
sure, anything.
well would you mind removing
this mole from
the side of my forehead.
see it, it looks an abe
Lincoln copper penny stuck there.
she says, what?
I can't do that. that's crazy.
i'm a dentist. look, I tell her,
i'm here, you're
here, you have all these
sharp instruments. you're practically
a doctor. numb me up and scrape
that sucker off. i'm sick
of looking at it
and answering questions about it.
oooh, what's that, people say.
better have it looked at!
I have cash.
oh, but I can't do that, she
says, putting her hands into the air.
i'm not a dermatologist.
shhh. alright, alright, calm down.
shut the door, I tell her.
I take out a hundred dollar
bill and slip it into
the pocket of her smock. not enough?
okay, playing hardball. I slip
in another hundred.
it's yours, I tell
her. go out with your new guy,
dinner movie, whatever.
no one needs to know,
I whisper to her.
it's between you and me.
go grab a scalpel or something
and zippity do da. okay?
stick a band aid on the wound
and no one is the wiser.
I slap my hands together
and rub them back forth.
no. she says. now don't ask
me again, or i'm going to hurt
you. now open wide, I need
to stuff your mouth
with some cardboard
and take a few x-rays.
how beautiful she looks today.
did you lose weight or something.
fall in love?
my god there's an aura about you.
heaven must be missing an angel.
why thank you.
very kind of you to say. I am
actually seeing someone.
you are quite perceptive.
she turns her head, blushing.
can I ask you something, I say
to her, it's sort of a favor?
sure, anything.
well would you mind removing
this mole from
the side of my forehead.
see it, it looks an abe
Lincoln copper penny stuck there.
she says, what?
I can't do that. that's crazy.
i'm a dentist. look, I tell her,
i'm here, you're
here, you have all these
sharp instruments. you're practically
a doctor. numb me up and scrape
that sucker off. i'm sick
of looking at it
and answering questions about it.
oooh, what's that, people say.
better have it looked at!
I have cash.
oh, but I can't do that, she
says, putting her hands into the air.
i'm not a dermatologist.
shhh. alright, alright, calm down.
shut the door, I tell her.
I take out a hundred dollar
bill and slip it into
the pocket of her smock. not enough?
okay, playing hardball. I slip
in another hundred.
it's yours, I tell
her. go out with your new guy,
dinner movie, whatever.
no one needs to know,
I whisper to her.
it's between you and me.
go grab a scalpel or something
and zippity do da. okay?
stick a band aid on the wound
and no one is the wiser.
I slap my hands together
and rub them back forth.
no. she says. now don't ask
me again, or i'm going to hurt
you. now open wide, I need
to stuff your mouth
with some cardboard
and take a few x-rays.
things changed
before things changed,
a bar was a place where you could
go and talk,
meet people, make friends,
stir up a romance even,
if the planets aligned
and the stars
came out.
someone might write their
number and name
on the back of a match book
cover, or napkin
and say call me. kissing you
on the cheek before
they left.
there might be one tv
in the corner,
a black and white
tv with rabbit ears,
maybe a fight was on,
or a ball game, or nothing.
there was a grown man or
woman behind the bar
with a rag
wiping the counter clean,
filling up
your drink before
you asked for another.
they called you by
your first name.
there was a dish of nuts
every six feet.
ashtrays.
the music wasn't so loud
that you couldn't talk.
there was food, real food,
not squid chopped
into rubbery fried gaskets.
not hummus, or
olives.
there was no spinach
artichoke dip.
but things changed.
not for the good either,
I tell you.
a bar was a place where you could
go and talk,
meet people, make friends,
stir up a romance even,
if the planets aligned
and the stars
came out.
someone might write their
number and name
on the back of a match book
cover, or napkin
and say call me. kissing you
on the cheek before
they left.
there might be one tv
in the corner,
a black and white
tv with rabbit ears,
maybe a fight was on,
or a ball game, or nothing.
there was a grown man or
woman behind the bar
with a rag
wiping the counter clean,
filling up
your drink before
you asked for another.
they called you by
your first name.
there was a dish of nuts
every six feet.
ashtrays.
the music wasn't so loud
that you couldn't talk.
there was food, real food,
not squid chopped
into rubbery fried gaskets.
not hummus, or
olives.
there was no spinach
artichoke dip.
but things changed.
not for the good either,
I tell you.
a days work
the man
in the purple t-shirt
with the leaf blower
blowing one leaf
down the sidewalk to the truck,
politely stops
to let you enter your house.
the smell of gasoline
and oil
burning fills
the air. the heavy
machine idles
and vibrates in his hands.
when you go in, he fires
it up again,
increases the power,
him and the blower,
louder than a jet
pushing the solitary leaf
down the sidewalk.
in the purple t-shirt
with the leaf blower
blowing one leaf
down the sidewalk to the truck,
politely stops
to let you enter your house.
the smell of gasoline
and oil
burning fills
the air. the heavy
machine idles
and vibrates in his hands.
when you go in, he fires
it up again,
increases the power,
him and the blower,
louder than a jet
pushing the solitary leaf
down the sidewalk.
a days work
the man
in the purple t-shirt
with the leaf blower
blowing one leaf
down the sidewalk to the truck,
politely stops
to let you enter your house.
the smell of gasoline
and oil
burning fills
the air. the heavy
machine idles
and vibrates in his hands.
when you go in, he fires
it up again,
increases the power,
him and the blower,
louder than a jet
pushing the solitary leaf
down the sidewalk.
in the purple t-shirt
with the leaf blower
blowing one leaf
down the sidewalk to the truck,
politely stops
to let you enter your house.
the smell of gasoline
and oil
burning fills
the air. the heavy
machine idles
and vibrates in his hands.
when you go in, he fires
it up again,
increases the power,
him and the blower,
louder than a jet
pushing the solitary leaf
down the sidewalk.
the fur collar coat
once, when we were eleven
or twelve
throwing snowballs
at cars
as all our friends
were doing
behind the bushes
at the round about,
a man,
came out of nowhere and
grabbed two or three
of us
by our skinny necks.
he had a perfectly round
red spot
on the side of his face,
a slush
of melting snow
dripped down the fur collar
of his fancy coat.
it looked like an old woman's coat.
he was angry.
smoking a cigarette, cursing.
we all wondered who
threw that one.
who aimed perfectly
through the narrow slot
of the car window
and made a direct hit.
he corralled us
near a pay phone where he
proceeded to call
the cops,
which gave us a chance
to run.
we did, him chasing
after us,
slipping in his suede boots,
we made
more snowballs,
aiming and firing as he
slipped and stumbled.
later, each of us took
credit for the perfect throw,
saying he deserved
it anyway with that coat.
or twelve
throwing snowballs
at cars
as all our friends
were doing
behind the bushes
at the round about,
a man,
came out of nowhere and
grabbed two or three
of us
by our skinny necks.
he had a perfectly round
red spot
on the side of his face,
a slush
of melting snow
dripped down the fur collar
of his fancy coat.
it looked like an old woman's coat.
he was angry.
smoking a cigarette, cursing.
we all wondered who
threw that one.
who aimed perfectly
through the narrow slot
of the car window
and made a direct hit.
he corralled us
near a pay phone where he
proceeded to call
the cops,
which gave us a chance
to run.
we did, him chasing
after us,
slipping in his suede boots,
we made
more snowballs,
aiming and firing as he
slipped and stumbled.
later, each of us took
credit for the perfect throw,
saying he deserved
it anyway with that coat.
the fur collar coat
once, when we were eleven
or twelve
throwing snowballs
at cars
as all our friends
were doing
behind the bushes
at the round about,
a man,
came out of nowhere and
grabbed two or three
of us
by our skinny necks.
he had a perfectly round
red spot
on the side of his face,
a slush
of melting snow
dripped down the fur collar
of his fancy coat.
it looked like an old woman's coat.
he was angry.
smoking a cigarette, cursing.
we all wondered who
threw that one.
who aimed perfectly
through the narrow slot
of the car window
and made a direct hit.
he corralled us
near a pay phone where he
proceeded to call
the cops,
which gave us a chance
to run.
we did, him chasing
after us,
slipping in his suede boots,
we made
more snowballs,
aiming and firing as he
slipped and stumbled.
later, each of us took
credit for the perfect throw,
saying he deserved
it anyway with that coat.
or twelve
throwing snowballs
at cars
as all our friends
were doing
behind the bushes
at the round about,
a man,
came out of nowhere and
grabbed two or three
of us
by our skinny necks.
he had a perfectly round
red spot
on the side of his face,
a slush
of melting snow
dripped down the fur collar
of his fancy coat.
it looked like an old woman's coat.
he was angry.
smoking a cigarette, cursing.
we all wondered who
threw that one.
who aimed perfectly
through the narrow slot
of the car window
and made a direct hit.
he corralled us
near a pay phone where he
proceeded to call
the cops,
which gave us a chance
to run.
we did, him chasing
after us,
slipping in his suede boots,
we made
more snowballs,
aiming and firing as he
slipped and stumbled.
later, each of us took
credit for the perfect throw,
saying he deserved
it anyway with that coat.
blocking the door
you notice
that when old people,
even
middle age people enter
a grocery store,
once in, once past
the automatic door,
and rubber mat,
they stop.
this is where they need
to think.
ponder this new world
before stepping into
the produce section.
the lights and noise
seems to immobilize them,
they need to
regroup, look at their
list and adjust
their clothing.
some will blow their
noses,
or take a flyer from the basket
to see
what's on sale.
others will open their
enormous purses and take out
a fistful of coupons.
they don't care that there
are other people
coming through the door
behind them.
they're in. it's their
store now.
that when old people,
even
middle age people enter
a grocery store,
once in, once past
the automatic door,
and rubber mat,
they stop.
this is where they need
to think.
ponder this new world
before stepping into
the produce section.
the lights and noise
seems to immobilize them,
they need to
regroup, look at their
list and adjust
their clothing.
some will blow their
noses,
or take a flyer from the basket
to see
what's on sale.
others will open their
enormous purses and take out
a fistful of coupons.
they don't care that there
are other people
coming through the door
behind them.
they're in. it's their
store now.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
the small boat
your boat is small.
too small for everyone
to get on board.
some swim,
some sink, some hang onto
the side.
you've been
in the water too,
cast adrift
by a love one,
but you survived
just fine, as they
will.
too small for everyone
to get on board.
some swim,
some sink, some hang onto
the side.
you've been
in the water too,
cast adrift
by a love one,
but you survived
just fine, as they
will.
the small boat
your boat is small.
too small for everyone
to get on board.
some swim,
some sink, some hang onto
the side.
you've been
in the water too,
cast adrift
by a love one,
but you survived
just fine, as they
will.
too small for everyone
to get on board.
some swim,
some sink, some hang onto
the side.
you've been
in the water too,
cast adrift
by a love one,
but you survived
just fine, as they
will.
giving
the gift
is more than the box,
the tenderness
of wrapping,
white bow,
and note, hand
written,
signed, with love.
yours always.
the gift is meaningless
inside.
it's more
than words, or money,
or anything
you can buy.
it's the act of giving
that saves
us all from ourselves.
is more than the box,
the tenderness
of wrapping,
white bow,
and note, hand
written,
signed, with love.
yours always.
the gift is meaningless
inside.
it's more
than words, or money,
or anything
you can buy.
it's the act of giving
that saves
us all from ourselves.
giving
the gift
is more than the box,
the tenderness
of wrapping,
white bow,
and note, hand
written,
signed, with love.
yours always.
the gift is meaningless
inside.
it's more
than words, or money,
or anything
you can buy.
it's the act of giving
that saves
us all from ourselves.
is more than the box,
the tenderness
of wrapping,
white bow,
and note, hand
written,
signed, with love.
yours always.
the gift is meaningless
inside.
it's more
than words, or money,
or anything
you can buy.
it's the act of giving
that saves
us all from ourselves.
no less strange
in time
we are all abandoned.
whether at birth,
or before,
or late in life
when those around you
fall.
enough years alive
will leave
you alone,
no different, no less
strange
than when you
were born.
we are all abandoned.
whether at birth,
or before,
or late in life
when those around you
fall.
enough years alive
will leave
you alone,
no different, no less
strange
than when you
were born.
no less strange
in time
we are all abandoned.
whether at birth,
or before,
or late in life
when those around you
fall.
enough years alive
will leave
you alone,
no different, no less
strange
than when you
were born.
we are all abandoned.
whether at birth,
or before,
or late in life
when those around you
fall.
enough years alive
will leave
you alone,
no different, no less
strange
than when you
were born.
getting on base
you can't get onto
the army base
without a strip search,
a vehicle search,
dna testing, blood samples,
a questionnaire
filled out of your known
or unknown
evil associates. they want
your name, address, id.
when was the last time you
beat your wife?
get out of the car,
spin around,
stand on your head.
go there, go there.
sit here.
wait.
wait some more.
someone will call your
name.
it smells like an army
base.
cut grass and oil.
bleached to a raw shine.
the dumbness of
green recruits at the gate,
waving you
forward to where you have
to leave
and make a U-turn
and go to the visitors
gate.
we are safe and paranoid
behind these bsrbed
fences, the red white and
blue flapping
stiffly against an empty sky.
the army base
without a strip search,
a vehicle search,
dna testing, blood samples,
a questionnaire
filled out of your known
or unknown
evil associates. they want
your name, address, id.
when was the last time you
beat your wife?
get out of the car,
spin around,
stand on your head.
go there, go there.
sit here.
wait.
wait some more.
someone will call your
name.
it smells like an army
base.
cut grass and oil.
bleached to a raw shine.
the dumbness of
green recruits at the gate,
waving you
forward to where you have
to leave
and make a U-turn
and go to the visitors
gate.
we are safe and paranoid
behind these bsrbed
fences, the red white and
blue flapping
stiffly against an empty sky.
getting on base
you can't get onto
the army base
without a strip search,
a vehicle search,
dna testing, blood samples,
a questionnaire
filled out of your known
or unknown
evil associates. they want
your name, address, id.
when was the last time you
beat your wife?
get out of the car,
spin around,
stand on your head.
go there, go there.
sit here.
wait.
wait some more.
someone will call your
name.
it smells like an army
base.
cut grass and oil.
bleached to a raw shine.
the dumbness of
green recruits at the gate,
waving you
forward to where you have
to leave
and make a U-turn
and go to the visitors
gate.
we are safe and paranoid
behind these bsrbed
fences, the red white and
blue flapping
stiffly against an empty sky.
the army base
without a strip search,
a vehicle search,
dna testing, blood samples,
a questionnaire
filled out of your known
or unknown
evil associates. they want
your name, address, id.
when was the last time you
beat your wife?
get out of the car,
spin around,
stand on your head.
go there, go there.
sit here.
wait.
wait some more.
someone will call your
name.
it smells like an army
base.
cut grass and oil.
bleached to a raw shine.
the dumbness of
green recruits at the gate,
waving you
forward to where you have
to leave
and make a U-turn
and go to the visitors
gate.
we are safe and paranoid
behind these bsrbed
fences, the red white and
blue flapping
stiffly against an empty sky.
the last reunion
in time there
will be only three people left
to attend
your high school reunion,
but you suspect
one person will be
the woman who organizes
it every other year.
her job since graduating
has been
to gather everyone together,
again and again.
searching
for former students
and teachers to attend,
and notifying all
of who has bought the farm.
she is relentless
in her pursuit,
begging you to come.
to bring pictures, to bring
memories,
to bring your own beer,
or chicken
to throw on the grille.
the days of the hotel ballroom
are gone.
no one cares much
anymore, checking
the maybe box, saying that
maybe they'll come.
will be only three people left
to attend
your high school reunion,
but you suspect
one person will be
the woman who organizes
it every other year.
her job since graduating
has been
to gather everyone together,
again and again.
searching
for former students
and teachers to attend,
and notifying all
of who has bought the farm.
she is relentless
in her pursuit,
begging you to come.
to bring pictures, to bring
memories,
to bring your own beer,
or chicken
to throw on the grille.
the days of the hotel ballroom
are gone.
no one cares much
anymore, checking
the maybe box, saying that
maybe they'll come.
things your mother threw away
in shop
you made a key chain
out of long strips of plastic.
four colors
woven into
a thick strip of rope.
then there
was the wooden pot holder
carved in wood shop.
using the jig saw,
then fine
sandpaper, the drill
for pegs
with which to hold
whatever it is was to hold.
the ashtray,
a thin plate of metal,
ball peened
and battered by
a hammer. and the bowl,
fashioned out
of clay, then glazed
and slid into the mysterious
kiln where it came
out shiny.
your goggles made your
small face
sweat and turn
red
under the heat and pressure
of the seventh grade.
you made a key chain
out of long strips of plastic.
four colors
woven into
a thick strip of rope.
then there
was the wooden pot holder
carved in wood shop.
using the jig saw,
then fine
sandpaper, the drill
for pegs
with which to hold
whatever it is was to hold.
the ashtray,
a thin plate of metal,
ball peened
and battered by
a hammer. and the bowl,
fashioned out
of clay, then glazed
and slid into the mysterious
kiln where it came
out shiny.
your goggles made your
small face
sweat and turn
red
under the heat and pressure
of the seventh grade.
things your mother threw away
in shop
you made a key chain
out of long strips of plastic.
four colors
woven into
a thick strip of rope.
then there
was the wooden pot holder
carved in wood shop.
using the jig saw,
then fine
sandpaper, the drill
for pegs
with which to hold
whatever it is was to hold.
the ashtray,
a thin plate of metal,
ball peened
and battered by
a hammer. and the bowl,
fashioned out
of clay, then glazed
and slid into the mysterious
kiln where it came
out shiny.
your goggles made your
small face
sweat and turn
red
under the heat and pressure
of the seventh grade.
you made a key chain
out of long strips of plastic.
four colors
woven into
a thick strip of rope.
then there
was the wooden pot holder
carved in wood shop.
using the jig saw,
then fine
sandpaper, the drill
for pegs
with which to hold
whatever it is was to hold.
the ashtray,
a thin plate of metal,
ball peened
and battered by
a hammer. and the bowl,
fashioned out
of clay, then glazed
and slid into the mysterious
kiln where it came
out shiny.
your goggles made your
small face
sweat and turn
red
under the heat and pressure
of the seventh grade.
solitaire
one card
leads to another.
a red three of diamonds
on four
of clubs.
the jack
of spades
onto the queen of hearts.
the ace
aside
with the club
two.
red nine on ten.
it's raining,
the light is dim.
the air cold.
it's quiet. you go
on, flipping
the cards, before
the next shuffle,
through all fifty-two.
leads to another.
a red three of diamonds
on four
of clubs.
the jack
of spades
onto the queen of hearts.
the ace
aside
with the club
two.
red nine on ten.
it's raining,
the light is dim.
the air cold.
it's quiet. you go
on, flipping
the cards, before
the next shuffle,
through all fifty-two.
solitaire
one card
leads to another.
a red three of diamonds
on four
of clubs.
the jack
of spades
onto the queen of hearts.
the ace
aside
with the club
two.
red nine on ten.
it's raining,
the light is dim.
the air cold.
it's quiet. you go
on, flipping
the cards, before
the next shuffle,
through all fifty-two.
leads to another.
a red three of diamonds
on four
of clubs.
the jack
of spades
onto the queen of hearts.
the ace
aside
with the club
two.
red nine on ten.
it's raining,
the light is dim.
the air cold.
it's quiet. you go
on, flipping
the cards, before
the next shuffle,
through all fifty-two.
the pink bush
you have no green thumb.
nothing grows
that you plant.
weeds and ivy seem to be
your thing.
you survey your square
of land
and ponder pavement,
gravel.
maybe a wooden deck
from fence to fence.
but in the corner is a bush
you didn't even know
you had.
it's blooming a pink
bright color.
maybe you do have skills
after all.
nothing grows
that you plant.
weeds and ivy seem to be
your thing.
you survey your square
of land
and ponder pavement,
gravel.
maybe a wooden deck
from fence to fence.
but in the corner is a bush
you didn't even know
you had.
it's blooming a pink
bright color.
maybe you do have skills
after all.
the pink bush
you have no green thumb.
nothing grows
that you plant.
weeds and ivy seem to be
your thing.
you survey your square
of land
and ponder pavement,
gravel.
maybe a wooden deck
from fence to fence.
but in the corner is a bush
you didn't even know
you had.
it's blooming a pink
bright color.
maybe you do have skills
after all.
nothing grows
that you plant.
weeds and ivy seem to be
your thing.
you survey your square
of land
and ponder pavement,
gravel.
maybe a wooden deck
from fence to fence.
but in the corner is a bush
you didn't even know
you had.
it's blooming a pink
bright color.
maybe you do have skills
after all.
dog in the car
the dog in the car
laps
his tongue at the window.
let's out a bark.
the doors are locked,
the owner somewhere in
the strip mall.
a crowd gathers,
some in tears, we have
to save this dog.
where is the owner they
chant,
someone lights a torch
another
ties a rope into
a noose.
we have to save this
dog, they yell.
get a hammer, break
a window. they don't see
the bowl of water,
or that the car is running,
the air conditioning on.
finally the man
returns and they chase
him around
the parking lot,
catching him, then teaching
him a lesson
by beating him
with their handbags.
laps
his tongue at the window.
let's out a bark.
the doors are locked,
the owner somewhere in
the strip mall.
a crowd gathers,
some in tears, we have
to save this dog.
where is the owner they
chant,
someone lights a torch
another
ties a rope into
a noose.
we have to save this
dog, they yell.
get a hammer, break
a window. they don't see
the bowl of water,
or that the car is running,
the air conditioning on.
finally the man
returns and they chase
him around
the parking lot,
catching him, then teaching
him a lesson
by beating him
with their handbags.
dog in the car
the dog in the car
laps
his tongue at the window.
let's out a bark.
the doors are locked,
the owner somewhere in
the strip mall.
a crowd gathers,
some in tears, we have
to save this dog.
where is the owner they
chant,
someone lights a torch
another
ties a rope into
a noose.
we have to save this
dog, they yell.
get a hammer, break
a window. they don't see
the bowl of water,
or that the car is running,
the air conditioning on.
finally the man
returns and they chase
him around
the parking lot,
catching him, then teaching
him a lesson
by beating him
with their handbags.
laps
his tongue at the window.
let's out a bark.
the doors are locked,
the owner somewhere in
the strip mall.
a crowd gathers,
some in tears, we have
to save this dog.
where is the owner they
chant,
someone lights a torch
another
ties a rope into
a noose.
we have to save this
dog, they yell.
get a hammer, break
a window. they don't see
the bowl of water,
or that the car is running,
the air conditioning on.
finally the man
returns and they chase
him around
the parking lot,
catching him, then teaching
him a lesson
by beating him
with their handbags.
loved the book
it's a bad movie.
you loved the book,
read it twice,
you keep it on your nightstand.
you imagined
each character to look
and be a certain
way.
you bought the ticket,
the popcorn,
sat down
in the darkened theater
and waited
for the story to unfold.
it didn't.
who were these people
these actors
filling in for
the ones you created
in your mind.
the music was all wrong,
the plot
thinned,
the ending too long.
you loved the book,
read it twice,
you keep it on your nightstand.
you imagined
each character to look
and be a certain
way.
you bought the ticket,
the popcorn,
sat down
in the darkened theater
and waited
for the story to unfold.
it didn't.
who were these people
these actors
filling in for
the ones you created
in your mind.
the music was all wrong,
the plot
thinned,
the ending too long.
loved the book
it's a bad movie.
you loved the book,
read it twice,
you keep it on your nightstand.
you imagined
each character to look
and be a certain
way.
you bought the ticket,
the popcorn,
sat down
in the darkened theater
and waited
for the story to unfold.
it didn't.
who were these people
these actors
filling in for
the ones you created
in your mind.
the music was all wrong,
the plot
thinned,
the ending too long.
you loved the book,
read it twice,
you keep it on your nightstand.
you imagined
each character to look
and be a certain
way.
you bought the ticket,
the popcorn,
sat down
in the darkened theater
and waited
for the story to unfold.
it didn't.
who were these people
these actors
filling in for
the ones you created
in your mind.
the music was all wrong,
the plot
thinned,
the ending too long.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
answering the bell
some days you can't answer
the bell.
you sit in the corner,
blood in your eyes.
the sting of punches still
pulsing
in your side.
you look across the wide
canvas
to what's ahead.
someone splashes water
onto your face,
sews up a cut over your eye.
sponges your neck.
go get em, they say.
you can do it.
watch out for his left.
the bell rings.
you lift yourself
on heavy legs,
out of bed, and begin
your day.
the bell.
you sit in the corner,
blood in your eyes.
the sting of punches still
pulsing
in your side.
you look across the wide
canvas
to what's ahead.
someone splashes water
onto your face,
sews up a cut over your eye.
sponges your neck.
go get em, they say.
you can do it.
watch out for his left.
the bell rings.
you lift yourself
on heavy legs,
out of bed, and begin
your day.
answering the bell
some days you can't answer
the bell.
you sit in the corner,
blood in your eyes.
the sting of punches still
pulsing
in your side.
you look across the wide
canvas
to what's ahead.
someone splashes water
onto your face,
sews up a cut over your eye.
sponges your neck.
go get em, they say.
you can do it.
watch out for his left.
the bell rings.
you lift yourself
on heavy legs,
out of bed, and begin
your day.
the bell.
you sit in the corner,
blood in your eyes.
the sting of punches still
pulsing
in your side.
you look across the wide
canvas
to what's ahead.
someone splashes water
onto your face,
sews up a cut over your eye.
sponges your neck.
go get em, they say.
you can do it.
watch out for his left.
the bell rings.
you lift yourself
on heavy legs,
out of bed, and begin
your day.
daisies
he doesn't see,
or if he does, the line of daises
in the grass,
growing wild.
he does nothing to avoid
them.
perhaps he's taken
notice.
flowers have a way of grabbing
your eye.
perhaps he remembered
in a quick flash
a girl knew in school,
the flowers he bundled
neatly in his small
hand to give to her, to win
her over.
her smile and blush,
then running away.
he pushes the mower
forward.
trimming everything to within
an inch of the cold
earth.
or if he does, the line of daises
in the grass,
growing wild.
he does nothing to avoid
them.
perhaps he's taken
notice.
flowers have a way of grabbing
your eye.
perhaps he remembered
in a quick flash
a girl knew in school,
the flowers he bundled
neatly in his small
hand to give to her, to win
her over.
her smile and blush,
then running away.
he pushes the mower
forward.
trimming everything to within
an inch of the cold
earth.
the first day and the last day
in preparation
for serving time in jail.
bring cash.
bring clean underwear,
t-shirts, white
is preferred.
socks.
the rest will be provided.
green jumpsuits,
a spring like mint
for misdemeanor offenders,
a bright summertime
orange for
felony inmates.
two to a one man cell.
one gets the cot,
the other a cozy
corner near
the head and sink.
pillows, sheets and a
striped blanket
will be provided.
no phones.
a thirty minute call is
five dollars.
three squares,
curfew at seven to be
back in your cell.
sixty days, and you're
a free man again.
keep your head down,
look no one in the eye.
there are two days of time.
the first day
and the last day.
see you when you get out,
unreformed,
but wiser as to the ways
of not getting caught
the next time.
for serving time in jail.
bring cash.
bring clean underwear,
t-shirts, white
is preferred.
socks.
the rest will be provided.
green jumpsuits,
a spring like mint
for misdemeanor offenders,
a bright summertime
orange for
felony inmates.
two to a one man cell.
one gets the cot,
the other a cozy
corner near
the head and sink.
pillows, sheets and a
striped blanket
will be provided.
no phones.
a thirty minute call is
five dollars.
three squares,
curfew at seven to be
back in your cell.
sixty days, and you're
a free man again.
keep your head down,
look no one in the eye.
there are two days of time.
the first day
and the last day.
see you when you get out,
unreformed,
but wiser as to the ways
of not getting caught
the next time.
the time portal
did I leave a candle
lit, she asks, as i drive
away, already ten miles from her home.
I don't know, I tell her,
you had about twenty of them
going, two or three
in every room.
we have to go back, she says.
the cats might knock one over
and burn the house down.
i turn around and say nothing.
I get very quiet.
i want to say something about
the century we are in.
electricity, lights with switches,
but i don't.
i don't say anything about
the butter churn in her
kitchen either, or the well
in her yard, or the goats
and chicken. it's best not to talk
about these things,
or this sweater she knitted,
how it itches and gives
me a rash.
lit, she asks, as i drive
away, already ten miles from her home.
I don't know, I tell her,
you had about twenty of them
going, two or three
in every room.
we have to go back, she says.
the cats might knock one over
and burn the house down.
i turn around and say nothing.
I get very quiet.
i want to say something about
the century we are in.
electricity, lights with switches,
but i don't.
i don't say anything about
the butter churn in her
kitchen either, or the well
in her yard, or the goats
and chicken. it's best not to talk
about these things,
or this sweater she knitted,
how it itches and gives
me a rash.
the mirage of you
I have no
interest in the desert.
the hills of white
sand,
cactus,
lizards,
the lack of water
or shade.
the ever present
sun,
white against
the pale blue sky.
my lips are parched
just thinking
about it.
the mirage of you
walking
towards me.
interest in the desert.
the hills of white
sand,
cactus,
lizards,
the lack of water
or shade.
the ever present
sun,
white against
the pale blue sky.
my lips are parched
just thinking
about it.
the mirage of you
walking
towards me.
the mirage of you
I have no
interest in the desert.
the hills of white
sand,
cactus,
lizards,
the lack of water
or shade.
the ever present
sun,
white against
the pale blue sky.
my lips are parched
just thinking
about it.
the mirage of you
walking
towards me.
interest in the desert.
the hills of white
sand,
cactus,
lizards,
the lack of water
or shade.
the ever present
sun,
white against
the pale blue sky.
my lips are parched
just thinking
about it.
the mirage of you
walking
towards me.
Monday, April 25, 2016
through the glass
each to his own glass
window.
whether cracked
across, never fixed,
fissured,
or spider veined,
or those stained
in ornate colors.
the glass where the bird's
beak hit,
or rock.
the window that never opens.
casement, or wooden,
a lock
on each,
the rounded attic
port, the crank rusted,
the panes thick
like bottles, or thinned
to a wafer.
each to his own way of seeing
the world,
rose colored, or through
the glass
darkly.
window.
whether cracked
across, never fixed,
fissured,
or spider veined,
or those stained
in ornate colors.
the glass where the bird's
beak hit,
or rock.
the window that never opens.
casement, or wooden,
a lock
on each,
the rounded attic
port, the crank rusted,
the panes thick
like bottles, or thinned
to a wafer.
each to his own way of seeing
the world,
rose colored, or through
the glass
darkly.
through the glass
each to his own glass
window.
whether cracked
across, never fixed,
fissured,
or spider veined,
or those stained
in ornate colors.
the glass where the bird's
beak hit,
or rock.
the window that never opens.
casement, or wooden,
a lock
on each,
the rounded attic
port, the crank rusted,
the panes thick
like bottles, or thinned
to a wafer.
each to his own way of seeing
the world,
rose colored, or through
the glass
darkly.
window.
whether cracked
across, never fixed,
fissured,
or spider veined,
or those stained
in ornate colors.
the glass where the bird's
beak hit,
or rock.
the window that never opens.
casement, or wooden,
a lock
on each,
the rounded attic
port, the crank rusted,
the panes thick
like bottles, or thinned
to a wafer.
each to his own way of seeing
the world,
rose colored, or through
the glass
darkly.
the starter dog
she wants a dog,
but not a young dog, not a pup,
not yet.
she needs a practice dog.
so she gets a fifteen year
old pug
from the pound,
an hour away from execution.
the thin blue
lenses of his eyes
makes him
bump into doors when he
struggles
to move about the slippery
floor.
he can't hear.
he sleeps and snarls
all day
in his round soft bed,
coughing, wheezing.
he's unwalkable, no tricks,
no nothing
given in return.
isn't he cute, she says,
holding him like the baby,
she'll never have,
his grey fat
body limp in her arms.
but not a young dog, not a pup,
not yet.
she needs a practice dog.
so she gets a fifteen year
old pug
from the pound,
an hour away from execution.
the thin blue
lenses of his eyes
makes him
bump into doors when he
struggles
to move about the slippery
floor.
he can't hear.
he sleeps and snarls
all day
in his round soft bed,
coughing, wheezing.
he's unwalkable, no tricks,
no nothing
given in return.
isn't he cute, she says,
holding him like the baby,
she'll never have,
his grey fat
body limp in her arms.
please, stop
my mother, in her fifties, once
began a conversation
about her needs, and by her
needs, i mean
her needs
in an intimate way.
she had recently remarried
a man, who for lack
of a better description
would give Hitler
a run for his money
in the evil department.
he's not a loving man,
she said, we hardly ever...
stop, I told her.
I don't want to hear
anything about this.
I don't want to
have that image in my mind
please, mom.
in fact, let's pretend
this never subject came up.
let's talk about you baking
a cake,
or decorating the Christmas
tree, or
knitting a pair of booties
for one of your
grand kids. in fact, i'd
love to have your
recipe for pot roast, i'll
hold while you get it.
began a conversation
about her needs, and by her
needs, i mean
her needs
in an intimate way.
she had recently remarried
a man, who for lack
of a better description
would give Hitler
a run for his money
in the evil department.
he's not a loving man,
she said, we hardly ever...
stop, I told her.
I don't want to hear
anything about this.
I don't want to
have that image in my mind
please, mom.
in fact, let's pretend
this never subject came up.
let's talk about you baking
a cake,
or decorating the Christmas
tree, or
knitting a pair of booties
for one of your
grand kids. in fact, i'd
love to have your
recipe for pot roast, i'll
hold while you get it.
digging a hole to china
your father had all
the answers, such as what would
happen if you kept
digging a hole
in the ground without stopping.
you'd reach china he'd say.
smiling from his lawn chair
in the back yard,
sunning himself, a glass
of ice tea at his side,
talking to our neighbor,
Edwina, about her garden.
her in her red shorts and
white blouse.
he seemed very interested
in her garden.
laughing and talking it up
with her about asparagus,
and lettuce,
tomatoes. it almost
seemed like he was
ignoring your questions,
your ambitious endeavor,
as you dug your hole,
towards china.
the answers, such as what would
happen if you kept
digging a hole
in the ground without stopping.
you'd reach china he'd say.
smiling from his lawn chair
in the back yard,
sunning himself, a glass
of ice tea at his side,
talking to our neighbor,
Edwina, about her garden.
her in her red shorts and
white blouse.
he seemed very interested
in her garden.
laughing and talking it up
with her about asparagus,
and lettuce,
tomatoes. it almost
seemed like he was
ignoring your questions,
your ambitious endeavor,
as you dug your hole,
towards china.
digging a hole to china
your father had all
the answers, such as what would
happen if you kept
digging a hole
in the ground without stopping.
you'd reach china he'd say.
smiling from his lawn chair
in the back yard,
sunning himself, a glass
of ice tea at his side,
talking to our neighbor,
Edwina, about her garden.
her in her red shorts and
white blouse.
he seemed very interested
in her garden.
laughing and talking it up
with her about asparagus,
and lettuce,
tomatoes. it almost
seemed like he was
ignoring your questions,
your ambitious endeavor,
as you dug your hole,
towards china.
the answers, such as what would
happen if you kept
digging a hole
in the ground without stopping.
you'd reach china he'd say.
smiling from his lawn chair
in the back yard,
sunning himself, a glass
of ice tea at his side,
talking to our neighbor,
Edwina, about her garden.
her in her red shorts and
white blouse.
he seemed very interested
in her garden.
laughing and talking it up
with her about asparagus,
and lettuce,
tomatoes. it almost
seemed like he was
ignoring your questions,
your ambitious endeavor,
as you dug your hole,
towards china.
you look familiar
you can't remember her name.
she looks familiar.
you know her from some where.
maybe you were married
for a short while
in the eighties,
maybe you had children
together, maybe.
but for now, her name
escapes you. the memory
is gone.
have we met you say,
shaking her hand
at the party. you look
like someone I used to know.
so do you, she says.
so do you.
she looks familiar.
you know her from some where.
maybe you were married
for a short while
in the eighties,
maybe you had children
together, maybe.
but for now, her name
escapes you. the memory
is gone.
have we met you say,
shaking her hand
at the party. you look
like someone I used to know.
so do you, she says.
so do you.
you look familiar
you can't remember her name.
she looks familiar.
you know her from some where.
maybe you were married
for a short while
in the eighties,
maybe you had children
together, maybe.
but for now, her name
escapes you. the memory
is gone.
have we met you say,
shaking her hand
at the party. you look
like someone I used to know.
so do you, she says.
so do you.
she looks familiar.
you know her from some where.
maybe you were married
for a short while
in the eighties,
maybe you had children
together, maybe.
but for now, her name
escapes you. the memory
is gone.
have we met you say,
shaking her hand
at the party. you look
like someone I used to know.
so do you, she says.
so do you.
permanent press
I notice the ironing
board
in the basement, unused
for years.
what with permanent press
now,
who needs it.
not to mention my casual
island wear
that needs no pressing.
and the iron,
it's silver face,
cold, stone like
on the shelf.
a few drops of water
still inside,
the spray starch, the can
still full,
beside it.
there must be something
I can iron, smooth out
one night.
board
in the basement, unused
for years.
what with permanent press
now,
who needs it.
not to mention my casual
island wear
that needs no pressing.
and the iron,
it's silver face,
cold, stone like
on the shelf.
a few drops of water
still inside,
the spray starch, the can
still full,
beside it.
there must be something
I can iron, smooth out
one night.
permanent press
I notice the ironing
board
in the basement, unused
for years.
what with permanent press
now,
who needs it.
not to mention my casual
island wear
that needs no pressing.
and the iron,
it's silver face,
cold, stone like
on the shelf.
a few drops of water
still inside,
the spray starch, the can
still full,
beside it.
there must be something
I can iron, smooth out
one night.
board
in the basement, unused
for years.
what with permanent press
now,
who needs it.
not to mention my casual
island wear
that needs no pressing.
and the iron,
it's silver face,
cold, stone like
on the shelf.
a few drops of water
still inside,
the spray starch, the can
still full,
beside it.
there must be something
I can iron, smooth out
one night.
the attaack dog
you check the crime
report to see what kind of
crime
has occurred in your
neighborhood.
some petty thefts,
a tire stolen,
jewelry from a local
business.
a pie is missing from
a window sill.
no serious mayhem
has occurred lately,
but still you lock the door,
turn on the alarm,
position
your attack dachshund
by the window
with his spiked
collar, you notice
blueberry on his nose,
crumbs on his paws.
report to see what kind of
crime
has occurred in your
neighborhood.
some petty thefts,
a tire stolen,
jewelry from a local
business.
a pie is missing from
a window sill.
no serious mayhem
has occurred lately,
but still you lock the door,
turn on the alarm,
position
your attack dachshund
by the window
with his spiked
collar, you notice
blueberry on his nose,
crumbs on his paws.
the attaack dog
you check the crime
report to see what kind of
crime
has occurred in your
neighborhood.
some petty thefts,
a tire stolen,
jewelry from a local
business.
a pie is missing from
a window sill.
no serious mayhem
has occurred lately,
but still you lock the door,
turn on the alarm,
position
your attack dachshund
by the window
with his spiked
collar, you notice
blueberry on his nose,
crumbs on his paws.
report to see what kind of
crime
has occurred in your
neighborhood.
some petty thefts,
a tire stolen,
jewelry from a local
business.
a pie is missing from
a window sill.
no serious mayhem
has occurred lately,
but still you lock the door,
turn on the alarm,
position
your attack dachshund
by the window
with his spiked
collar, you notice
blueberry on his nose,
crumbs on his paws.
no one home
the key won't
turn,
the door won't open.
you knock,
pull and push, you
jiggle the silver
key
against the tumblers.
you peek
through window. you ring
the bell.
say loudly, it's me,
open up.
there is no
one home.
not even you.
turn,
the door won't open.
you knock,
pull and push, you
jiggle the silver
key
against the tumblers.
you peek
through window. you ring
the bell.
say loudly, it's me,
open up.
there is no
one home.
not even you.
no one home
the key won't
turn,
the door won't open.
you knock,
pull and push, you
jiggle the silver
key
against the tumblers.
you peek
through window. you ring
the bell.
say loudly, it's me,
open up.
there is no
one home.
not even you.
turn,
the door won't open.
you knock,
pull and push, you
jiggle the silver
key
against the tumblers.
you peek
through window. you ring
the bell.
say loudly, it's me,
open up.
there is no
one home.
not even you.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
changing the world
the man
leaning on the jackhammer,
rattling
his bones,
chopping pavement
in the hot sun,
is happy.
he knows what he
has to do,
and accepts the lot
that life
has given
him. there is no desire
to drive the truck
to be a boss,
to manage men.
this hammer in his hands
pushes all of
that aside.
the world changes
because of him.
leaning on the jackhammer,
rattling
his bones,
chopping pavement
in the hot sun,
is happy.
he knows what he
has to do,
and accepts the lot
that life
has given
him. there is no desire
to drive the truck
to be a boss,
to manage men.
this hammer in his hands
pushes all of
that aside.
the world changes
because of him.
changing the world
the man
leaning on the jackhammer,
rattling
his bones,
chopping pavement
in the hot sun,
is happy.
he knows what he
has to do,
and accepts the lot
that life
has given
him. there is no desire
to drive the truck
to be a boss,
to manage men.
this hammer in his hands
pushes all of
that aside.
the world changes
because of him.
leaning on the jackhammer,
rattling
his bones,
chopping pavement
in the hot sun,
is happy.
he knows what he
has to do,
and accepts the lot
that life
has given
him. there is no desire
to drive the truck
to be a boss,
to manage men.
this hammer in his hands
pushes all of
that aside.
the world changes
because of him.
it's all good
and you?
what's new?
nothing, nothing.
same old.
how's the kid, work?
things?
good, all good,
can't complain.
that's good.
still with what's his
name.
you mean bill?
yeah.
we're still good.
that's good.
you two are good together.
we are.
and you, seeing anyone?
no, well, sort of.
he's still married,
but getting a divorce as
soon as the kids
are out of school.
well, that's nice.
it's a good start.
yeah,
I have to say that
things are really
really good.
well, I have to run now,
but it's been nice
catching up. it was good
to see you again.
I hope to see you soon.
me too.
yes. have a good day.
what's new?
nothing, nothing.
same old.
how's the kid, work?
things?
good, all good,
can't complain.
that's good.
still with what's his
name.
you mean bill?
yeah.
we're still good.
that's good.
you two are good together.
we are.
and you, seeing anyone?
no, well, sort of.
he's still married,
but getting a divorce as
soon as the kids
are out of school.
well, that's nice.
it's a good start.
yeah,
I have to say that
things are really
really good.
well, I have to run now,
but it's been nice
catching up. it was good
to see you again.
I hope to see you soon.
me too.
yes. have a good day.
it's all good
and you?
what's new?
nothing, nothing.
same old.
how's the kid, work?
things?
good, all good,
can't complain.
that's good.
still with what's his
name.
you mean bill?
yeah.
we're still good.
that's good.
you two are good together.
we are.
and you, seeing anyone?
no, well, sort of.
he's still married,
but getting a divorce as
soon as the kids
are out of school.
well, that's nice.
it's a good start.
yeah,
I have to say that
things are really
really good.
well, I have to run now,
but it's been nice
catching up. it was good
to see you again.
I hope to see you soon.
me too.
yes. have a good day.
what's new?
nothing, nothing.
same old.
how's the kid, work?
things?
good, all good,
can't complain.
that's good.
still with what's his
name.
you mean bill?
yeah.
we're still good.
that's good.
you two are good together.
we are.
and you, seeing anyone?
no, well, sort of.
he's still married,
but getting a divorce as
soon as the kids
are out of school.
well, that's nice.
it's a good start.
yeah,
I have to say that
things are really
really good.
well, I have to run now,
but it's been nice
catching up. it was good
to see you again.
I hope to see you soon.
me too.
yes. have a good day.
the spatula
you called
dibs on licking the spatula
when you're mother made
a cake,
but your sister, who was
smaller
wanted some too.
so you gave her one side,
you had the other.
both of you sat at the near
empty bowl,
happy in the sunlight,
licking
while your mother
slid the pan
into the oven.
dibs on licking the spatula
when you're mother made
a cake,
but your sister, who was
smaller
wanted some too.
so you gave her one side,
you had the other.
both of you sat at the near
empty bowl,
happy in the sunlight,
licking
while your mother
slid the pan
into the oven.
the spatula
you called
dibs on licking the spatula
when you're mother made
a cake,
but your sister, who was
smaller
wanted some too.
so you gave her one side,
you had the other.
both of you sat at the near
empty bowl,
happy in the sunlight,
licking
while your mother
slid the pan
into the oven.
dibs on licking the spatula
when you're mother made
a cake,
but your sister, who was
smaller
wanted some too.
so you gave her one side,
you had the other.
both of you sat at the near
empty bowl,
happy in the sunlight,
licking
while your mother
slid the pan
into the oven.
just a phone
but he was so smart
they say
of the man, the genius.
yes,
he was basically a bad
person
to his friends, his
children
his wife,
a narcissist to the nth
degree,
but he was so smart.
look at what my phone can
do. I can't live without it.
all because of him.
we are not worthy.
they say
of the man, the genius.
yes,
he was basically a bad
person
to his friends, his
children
his wife,
a narcissist to the nth
degree,
but he was so smart.
look at what my phone can
do. I can't live without it.
all because of him.
we are not worthy.
just a phone
but he was so smart
they say
of the man, the genius.
yes,
he was basically a bad
person
to his friends, his
children
his wife,
a narcissist to the nth
degree,
but he was so smart.
look at what my phone can
do. I can't live without it.
all because of him.
we are not worthy.
they say
of the man, the genius.
yes,
he was basically a bad
person
to his friends, his
children
his wife,
a narcissist to the nth
degree,
but he was so smart.
look at what my phone can
do. I can't live without it.
all because of him.
we are not worthy.
beach shells
for some reason
I've kept all the shells
we gathered
along
the shore, kept them
lying on the table,
under the light,
white and golden,
some with a silver
shine, black streaked,
flecks of red.
each different.
it's hard to throw them
away, as each good
memory is
of a loved one.
I've kept all the shells
we gathered
along
the shore, kept them
lying on the table,
under the light,
white and golden,
some with a silver
shine, black streaked,
flecks of red.
each different.
it's hard to throw them
away, as each good
memory is
of a loved one.
beach shells
for some reason
I've kept all the shells
we gathered
along
the shore, kept them
lying on the table,
under the light,
white and golden,
some with a silver
shine, black streaked,
flecks of red.
each different.
it's hard to throw them
away, as each good
memory is
of a loved one.
I've kept all the shells
we gathered
along
the shore, kept them
lying on the table,
under the light,
white and golden,
some with a silver
shine, black streaked,
flecks of red.
each different.
it's hard to throw them
away, as each good
memory is
of a loved one.
keep rowing
there's nothing wrong.
there's a lull,
a gap.
a Saragossa sea
in your life.
the calm
is alarming.
are you in the eye
of the hurricane,
or out
of it.
we'll see, keep
rowing.
there's a lull,
a gap.
a Saragossa sea
in your life.
the calm
is alarming.
are you in the eye
of the hurricane,
or out
of it.
we'll see, keep
rowing.
keep rowing
there's nothing wrong.
there's a lull,
a gap.
a Saragossa sea
in your life.
the calm
is alarming.
are you in the eye
of the hurricane,
or out
of it.
we'll see, keep
rowing.
there's a lull,
a gap.
a Saragossa sea
in your life.
the calm
is alarming.
are you in the eye
of the hurricane,
or out
of it.
we'll see, keep
rowing.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
back seat betty
he loves
to smoke, holding the freshly lit
cigarette
out the window
of his old
Cadillac.
the ashtray is full
of grey dust,
butts bent over,
some with lipstick
on them.
I hold one up to him
as he drives
along,
betty he says, staring
at the butt.
we went out last night.
I look in
the back seat.
some of betty's clothes
are back there.
shoes, a skirt.
an empty bottle of merlot.
he lights another
cigarette with the one
he's smoking,
crushing the old
one into the ashtray,
what can I say, he says.
blowing a string of smoke
rings at the windshield.
we can't seem to
stay away from one
another.
to smoke, holding the freshly lit
cigarette
out the window
of his old
Cadillac.
the ashtray is full
of grey dust,
butts bent over,
some with lipstick
on them.
I hold one up to him
as he drives
along,
betty he says, staring
at the butt.
we went out last night.
I look in
the back seat.
some of betty's clothes
are back there.
shoes, a skirt.
an empty bottle of merlot.
he lights another
cigarette with the one
he's smoking,
crushing the old
one into the ashtray,
what can I say, he says.
blowing a string of smoke
rings at the windshield.
we can't seem to
stay away from one
another.
back seat betty
he loves
to smoke, holding the freshly lit
cigarette
out the window
of his old
Cadillac.
the ashtray is full
of grey dust,
butts bent over,
some with lipstick
on them.
I hold one up to him
as he drives
along,
betty he says, staring
at the butt.
we went out last night.
I look in
the back seat.
some of betty's clothes
are back there.
shoes, a skirt.
an empty bottle of merlot.
he lights another
cigarette with the one
he's smoking,
crushing the old
one into the ashtray,
what can I say, he says.
blowing a string of smoke
rings at the windshield.
we can't seem to
stay away from one
another.
to smoke, holding the freshly lit
cigarette
out the window
of his old
Cadillac.
the ashtray is full
of grey dust,
butts bent over,
some with lipstick
on them.
I hold one up to him
as he drives
along,
betty he says, staring
at the butt.
we went out last night.
I look in
the back seat.
some of betty's clothes
are back there.
shoes, a skirt.
an empty bottle of merlot.
he lights another
cigarette with the one
he's smoking,
crushing the old
one into the ashtray,
what can I say, he says.
blowing a string of smoke
rings at the windshield.
we can't seem to
stay away from one
another.
her man in black
all day she listens
to johnny cash,
his endless playlist of songs,
she turns up her phone,
I love him,
she says.
the way he sings, wears
black.
a man's man.
I love his deep voice,
the way
he stands tall
in the saddle. I really
like that.
it's not singing, I say,
begging to disagree.
it's more like
talking.
I could talk like that
if I smoked enough
cigarettes and drank
enough scotch.
you're no johnny cash
she says
and you'll never be,
so don't even go there.
watch me play this washboard
I tell her,
dragging a scrub
brush across it then
lowering my voice
to a low low point of
sexiness.
to johnny cash,
his endless playlist of songs,
she turns up her phone,
I love him,
she says.
the way he sings, wears
black.
a man's man.
I love his deep voice,
the way
he stands tall
in the saddle. I really
like that.
it's not singing, I say,
begging to disagree.
it's more like
talking.
I could talk like that
if I smoked enough
cigarettes and drank
enough scotch.
you're no johnny cash
she says
and you'll never be,
so don't even go there.
watch me play this washboard
I tell her,
dragging a scrub
brush across it then
lowering my voice
to a low low point of
sexiness.
the great barn
she envisions dancing,
weddings,
events in black tie,
she points to where the band
will play
under the arch
of the great barn,
the beams of wood
still solid
after a hundred years.
her eyes
go around the empty room,
as she points
at where the tables
will stand,
the art, the lamps,
the flowers.
the kitchen will bring up
food,
we'll open
up the barn doors on nice
nights
and let the moon come
through. it will be grand,
she says.
you'll see, watching
as a bat
beats its leathery wings
across the room.
weddings,
events in black tie,
she points to where the band
will play
under the arch
of the great barn,
the beams of wood
still solid
after a hundred years.
her eyes
go around the empty room,
as she points
at where the tables
will stand,
the art, the lamps,
the flowers.
the kitchen will bring up
food,
we'll open
up the barn doors on nice
nights
and let the moon come
through. it will be grand,
she says.
you'll see, watching
as a bat
beats its leathery wings
across the room.
the baby shower gift
maybe if you weren't so
lazy and stupid
you'd understand what i'm trying
to tell you,
your soul mate Carla
says to you
as you bend over and try to get
a knot our of your shoe.
you don't listen to me,
you never do, you just nod
and say okay, or uh huh.
you ignore me when i'm trying
to tell you something.
you know we have a baby shower
to go to today,
and you were supposed to pick
up a gift
at the baby store, but did you
do it? no. once again, you've
proven to me who you are.
now i'm stuck and off you go to
play softball with your equally
stupid friends.
what time will you be back?
i'm not cooking dinner tonight,
I won't have time.
I don't know, maybe never.
okay, well have fun.
kiss me on the cheek, I don't
want you to mess up my lipstick.
lazy and stupid
you'd understand what i'm trying
to tell you,
your soul mate Carla
says to you
as you bend over and try to get
a knot our of your shoe.
you don't listen to me,
you never do, you just nod
and say okay, or uh huh.
you ignore me when i'm trying
to tell you something.
you know we have a baby shower
to go to today,
and you were supposed to pick
up a gift
at the baby store, but did you
do it? no. once again, you've
proven to me who you are.
now i'm stuck and off you go to
play softball with your equally
stupid friends.
what time will you be back?
i'm not cooking dinner tonight,
I won't have time.
I don't know, maybe never.
okay, well have fun.
kiss me on the cheek, I don't
want you to mess up my lipstick.
the baby shower gift
maybe if you weren't so
lazy and stupid
you'd understand what i'm trying
to tell you,
your soul mate Carla
says to you
as you bend over and try to get
a knot our of your shoe.
you don't listen to me,
you never do, you just nod
and say okay, or uh huh.
you ignore me when i'm trying
to tell you something.
you know we have a baby shower
to go to today,
and you were supposed to pick
up a gift
at the baby store, but did you
do it? no. once again, you've
proven to me who you are.
now i'm stuck and off you go to
play softball with your equally
stupid friends.
what time will you be back?
i'm not cooking dinner tonight,
I won't have time.
I don't know, maybe never.
okay, well have fun.
kiss me on the cheek, I don't
want you to mess up my lipstick.
lazy and stupid
you'd understand what i'm trying
to tell you,
your soul mate Carla
says to you
as you bend over and try to get
a knot our of your shoe.
you don't listen to me,
you never do, you just nod
and say okay, or uh huh.
you ignore me when i'm trying
to tell you something.
you know we have a baby shower
to go to today,
and you were supposed to pick
up a gift
at the baby store, but did you
do it? no. once again, you've
proven to me who you are.
now i'm stuck and off you go to
play softball with your equally
stupid friends.
what time will you be back?
i'm not cooking dinner tonight,
I won't have time.
I don't know, maybe never.
okay, well have fun.
kiss me on the cheek, I don't
want you to mess up my lipstick.
look at those arms
you stand in front
of the mirror
in the morning, still wet
from the shower
and admire your arms.
what nice arms
you have, you say to no
one, flexing them,
curling your fist,
stretching them out like
a weight lifter on
the beach. people should
like you for your
arms alone
and ignore the rest.
it's a good thought to
begin the day with.
of the mirror
in the morning, still wet
from the shower
and admire your arms.
what nice arms
you have, you say to no
one, flexing them,
curling your fist,
stretching them out like
a weight lifter on
the beach. people should
like you for your
arms alone
and ignore the rest.
it's a good thought to
begin the day with.
surprised
the roasted chicken,
half cut
surprises you in the morning
when you see it through
the little window,
still in the oven,
one leg in the air.
all night resting in the shallow
pain.
it smells good,
but you suspect it's gone
bad. you are always
surprised when things
go bad,
sour milk, bread
tinged in green,
the lettuce, browned
and limp. us.
half cut
surprises you in the morning
when you see it through
the little window,
still in the oven,
one leg in the air.
all night resting in the shallow
pain.
it smells good,
but you suspect it's gone
bad. you are always
surprised when things
go bad,
sour milk, bread
tinged in green,
the lettuce, browned
and limp. us.
surprised
the roasted chicken,
half cut
surprises you in the morning
when you see it through
the little window,
still in the oven,
one leg in the air.
all night resting in the shallow
pain.
it smells good,
but you suspect it's gone
bad. you are always
surprised when things
go bad,
sour milk, bread
tinged in green,
the lettuce, browned
and limp. us.
half cut
surprises you in the morning
when you see it through
the little window,
still in the oven,
one leg in the air.
all night resting in the shallow
pain.
it smells good,
but you suspect it's gone
bad. you are always
surprised when things
go bad,
sour milk, bread
tinged in green,
the lettuce, browned
and limp. us.
shelf life
the extinction
of life,
animals, birds, species
of fish.
due to climate change,
or us,
meteors
falling from the sky,
is fine.
there is a shelf life
to everything.
from shoes to love.
be glad there is no
brontosaurus
still alive, lumbering
down the road
in the morning, mindlessly
crushing cars,
delaying traffic
on 395.
of life,
animals, birds, species
of fish.
due to climate change,
or us,
meteors
falling from the sky,
is fine.
there is a shelf life
to everything.
from shoes to love.
be glad there is no
brontosaurus
still alive, lumbering
down the road
in the morning, mindlessly
crushing cars,
delaying traffic
on 395.
Friday, April 22, 2016
knee against knee
it's easy
to see who is or isn't
getting
it.
and by it, I mean it.
the faces tell
all.
the spring in the step,
the smile,
the gaze,
that far away look
of happiness.
thinking about the last
time
and when the next time
might occur.
hands held,
shoulders nuzzled,
knee against knee
beneath
the table.
to see who is or isn't
getting
it.
and by it, I mean it.
the faces tell
all.
the spring in the step,
the smile,
the gaze,
that far away look
of happiness.
thinking about the last
time
and when the next time
might occur.
hands held,
shoulders nuzzled,
knee against knee
beneath
the table.
knee against knee
it's easy
to see who is or isn't
getting
it.
and by it, I mean it.
the faces tell
all.
the spring in the step,
the smile,
the gaze,
that far away look
of happiness.
thinking about the last
time
and when the next time
might occur.
hands held,
shoulders nuzzled,
knee against knee
beneath
the table.
to see who is or isn't
getting
it.
and by it, I mean it.
the faces tell
all.
the spring in the step,
the smile,
the gaze,
that far away look
of happiness.
thinking about the last
time
and when the next time
might occur.
hands held,
shoulders nuzzled,
knee against knee
beneath
the table.
letting it go
the old horse.
sweet and shy,
the sway back brown horse.
flies
batted by a stiff tail.
eyes matted
with tears gone yellow.
unable to walk
far.
away from the smell,
the end of life,
hardly making it to the back
fence to lie
down and die.
but she did. she did.
despite
all efforts to keep
her standing
in the stall,
to gnaw carrots and be
brushed by
a kind unwilling hand.
sweet and shy,
the sway back brown horse.
flies
batted by a stiff tail.
eyes matted
with tears gone yellow.
unable to walk
far.
away from the smell,
the end of life,
hardly making it to the back
fence to lie
down and die.
but she did. she did.
despite
all efforts to keep
her standing
in the stall,
to gnaw carrots and be
brushed by
a kind unwilling hand.
in orange again
I made a plea bargain
he tells you on the phone.
my court date
was yesterday.
so i'm going back
into the jump
in may.
if you have any work
before then let me know.
it's a ninety day stretch
this time,
but I could use a break.
three squares,
laundry done, some clean
living
behind bars.
let me know, I need some
cash
for the commissary, for
cards,
for dice to roll.
he tells you on the phone.
my court date
was yesterday.
so i'm going back
into the jump
in may.
if you have any work
before then let me know.
it's a ninety day stretch
this time,
but I could use a break.
three squares,
laundry done, some clean
living
behind bars.
let me know, I need some
cash
for the commissary, for
cards,
for dice to roll.
in orange again
I made a plea bargain
he tells you on the phone.
my court date
was yesterday.
so i'm going back
into the jump
in may.
if you have any work
before then let me know.
it's a ninety day stretch
this time,
but I could use a break.
three squares,
laundry done, some clean
living
behind bars.
let me know, I need some
cash
for the commissary, for
cards,
for dice to roll.
he tells you on the phone.
my court date
was yesterday.
so i'm going back
into the jump
in may.
if you have any work
before then let me know.
it's a ninety day stretch
this time,
but I could use a break.
three squares,
laundry done, some clean
living
behind bars.
let me know, I need some
cash
for the commissary, for
cards,
for dice to roll.
work and money
I've known people
who love to work.
whether selling shoes, or
shoveling coal,
cars, or meat,
encyclopedias door to door.
they get lost
in work.
a safe haven from others.
from small talk,
from love,
from pain.
the steel mill, the farm,
hands on the potter's wheel,
sunrise to sunset.
work
and money. work and money.
all day long.
who love to work.
whether selling shoes, or
shoveling coal,
cars, or meat,
encyclopedias door to door.
they get lost
in work.
a safe haven from others.
from small talk,
from love,
from pain.
the steel mill, the farm,
hands on the potter's wheel,
sunrise to sunset.
work
and money. work and money.
all day long.
alice
if you don't have anything
nice to say
about someone,
come sit next to me,
alice often said.
she lived to be
an old woman,
skin and bone,
a recluse in the end.
bitter and brittle.
but sharp.
sharp teeth, sharp elbows.
how nice or painful
it would have been to
have known her.
the things you could have
unlearned.
nice to say
about someone,
come sit next to me,
alice often said.
she lived to be
an old woman,
skin and bone,
a recluse in the end.
bitter and brittle.
but sharp.
sharp teeth, sharp elbows.
how nice or painful
it would have been to
have known her.
the things you could have
unlearned.
alice
if you don't have anything
nice to say
about someone,
come sit next to me,
alice often said.
she lived to be
an old woman,
skin and bone,
a recluse in the end.
bitter and brittle.
but sharp.
sharp teeth, sharp elbows.
how nice or painful
it would have been to
have known her.
the things you could have
unlearned.
nice to say
about someone,
come sit next to me,
alice often said.
she lived to be
an old woman,
skin and bone,
a recluse in the end.
bitter and brittle.
but sharp.
sharp teeth, sharp elbows.
how nice or painful
it would have been to
have known her.
the things you could have
unlearned.
fast food
the pigeons
are fat.
the rats too, bellies dragging,
they lumber in twilight
towards
the park cans,
the dumpsters in the alley.
the people too
are large.
the eating is endless.
the drinking.
there is no more planting
or plowing,
or harvesting.
not a muscle used
to eat.
it's yelling into a speaker
as you drive
through the narrow
turn.
holding money out to
a woman
in the window.
her arms too short, too
large
to give you your change.
are fat.
the rats too, bellies dragging,
they lumber in twilight
towards
the park cans,
the dumpsters in the alley.
the people too
are large.
the eating is endless.
the drinking.
there is no more planting
or plowing,
or harvesting.
not a muscle used
to eat.
it's yelling into a speaker
as you drive
through the narrow
turn.
holding money out to
a woman
in the window.
her arms too short, too
large
to give you your change.
fast food
the pigeons
are fat.
the rats too, bellies dragging,
they lumber in twilight
towards
the park cans,
the dumpsters in the alley.
the people too
are large.
the eating is endless.
the drinking.
there is no more planting
or plowing,
or harvesting.
not a muscle used
to eat.
it's yelling into a speaker
as you drive
through the narrow
turn.
holding money out to
a woman
in the window.
her arms too short, too
large
to give you your change.
are fat.
the rats too, bellies dragging,
they lumber in twilight
towards
the park cans,
the dumpsters in the alley.
the people too
are large.
the eating is endless.
the drinking.
there is no more planting
or plowing,
or harvesting.
not a muscle used
to eat.
it's yelling into a speaker
as you drive
through the narrow
turn.
holding money out to
a woman
in the window.
her arms too short, too
large
to give you your change.
an rx of sorts
normally,
you can eat three slices of pizza
from the large
box delivered,
still hot, not piping hot,
but hot enough that you don't
have to turn the oven on
and reheat the slices.
tonight though,
you eat five pieces.
somethings is bothering you.
it's an emotional thing,
with you and pizza.
you doubled down on the meat
too.
pepperoni and Italian sausage.
tired of diet ice tea
you go for the coke
in a liter bottle,
twelve tea spoons of sugar in every
glass, you mumble to yourself
as you pour the carbonated
brown sugar water
onto ice.
so what.
you are unsettled about the day,
the week.
people.
pizza and coke seem to help.
an rx of sorts.
you can eat three slices of pizza
from the large
box delivered,
still hot, not piping hot,
but hot enough that you don't
have to turn the oven on
and reheat the slices.
tonight though,
you eat five pieces.
somethings is bothering you.
it's an emotional thing,
with you and pizza.
you doubled down on the meat
too.
pepperoni and Italian sausage.
tired of diet ice tea
you go for the coke
in a liter bottle,
twelve tea spoons of sugar in every
glass, you mumble to yourself
as you pour the carbonated
brown sugar water
onto ice.
so what.
you are unsettled about the day,
the week.
people.
pizza and coke seem to help.
an rx of sorts.
the gift
they want you to take
your shoes off
before entering the house.
three dogs,
two cats and a white rabbit roam freely.
you sit at the bottom
of their stairs
and untie your shoes.
your clean shoes.
your new shoes.
you set them in the row
next to their shoes.
they stare at your socks
and look at one another
before saying as one,
come in.
it's okay to come in now.
the rug is old,
the color of oatmeal
sprinkled with brown sugar.
strands of it dangle
in the air like weeds.
you are confused,
but accepting of crazy people.
it's a gift you have.
your shoes off
before entering the house.
three dogs,
two cats and a white rabbit roam freely.
you sit at the bottom
of their stairs
and untie your shoes.
your clean shoes.
your new shoes.
you set them in the row
next to their shoes.
they stare at your socks
and look at one another
before saying as one,
come in.
it's okay to come in now.
the rug is old,
the color of oatmeal
sprinkled with brown sugar.
strands of it dangle
in the air like weeds.
you are confused,
but accepting of crazy people.
it's a gift you have.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
tell me about it
if you talk to enough
people
long enough and give them
a drink or two,
or three,
you'll see they are no
different
than you, or anyone else.
the problems are all the same.
the anxiety and angst
not original.
friends and work,
money,
illness, parents and children.
siblings.
it's an easy list
of troubles.
live long enough and you're
on it,
or living with it, telling
someone about it.
people
long enough and give them
a drink or two,
or three,
you'll see they are no
different
than you, or anyone else.
the problems are all the same.
the anxiety and angst
not original.
friends and work,
money,
illness, parents and children.
siblings.
it's an easy list
of troubles.
live long enough and you're
on it,
or living with it, telling
someone about it.
between the lines
it's the wrist
against the car, polishing,
giving shine,
the broom
pulled against
the floor
corralling dirt,
it's the brush against
a wall,
being pulled down
then up,
applying paint.
it's the motion of an arm
reaching out
to take a dollar
to give a ticket,
it's the wave of the ocean,
persistent,
doing what it was born to do.
it's the mundane
that fills
the world, the rest,
love and death, art,
falls between the lines.
against the car, polishing,
giving shine,
the broom
pulled against
the floor
corralling dirt,
it's the brush against
a wall,
being pulled down
then up,
applying paint.
it's the motion of an arm
reaching out
to take a dollar
to give a ticket,
it's the wave of the ocean,
persistent,
doing what it was born to do.
it's the mundane
that fills
the world, the rest,
love and death, art,
falls between the lines.
between the lines
it's the wrist
against the car, polishing,
giving shine,
the broom
pulled against
the floor
corralling dirt,
it's the brush against
a wall,
being pulled down
then up,
applying paint.
it's the motion of an arm
reaching out
to take a dollar
to give a ticket,
it's the wave of the ocean,
persistent,
doing what it was born to do.
it's the mundane
that fills
the world, the rest,
love and death, art,
falls between the lines.
against the car, polishing,
giving shine,
the broom
pulled against
the floor
corralling dirt,
it's the brush against
a wall,
being pulled down
then up,
applying paint.
it's the motion of an arm
reaching out
to take a dollar
to give a ticket,
it's the wave of the ocean,
persistent,
doing what it was born to do.
it's the mundane
that fills
the world, the rest,
love and death, art,
falls between the lines.
old boots
i'm done with these boots.
but not done.
not completely.
they sit on the bottom step,
the laces knotted,
the soles muddy,
dried and grey.
the fabric worn,
a tear where
my leg would slide
into the bottom, my foot
snug and warm.
i'm done with them,
but not completely.
i'll let them sit for awhile
where they are.
it's something I do with
everything,
everyone.
but not done.
not completely.
they sit on the bottom step,
the laces knotted,
the soles muddy,
dried and grey.
the fabric worn,
a tear where
my leg would slide
into the bottom, my foot
snug and warm.
i'm done with them,
but not completely.
i'll let them sit for awhile
where they are.
it's something I do with
everything,
everyone.
old boots
i'm done with these boots.
but not done.
not completely.
they sit on the bottom step,
the laces knotted,
the soles muddy,
dried and grey.
the fabric worn,
a tear where
my leg would slide
into the bottom, my foot
snug and warm.
i'm done with them,
but not completely.
i'll let them sit for awhile
where they are.
it's something I do with
everything,
everyone.
but not done.
not completely.
they sit on the bottom step,
the laces knotted,
the soles muddy,
dried and grey.
the fabric worn,
a tear where
my leg would slide
into the bottom, my foot
snug and warm.
i'm done with them,
but not completely.
i'll let them sit for awhile
where they are.
it's something I do with
everything,
everyone.
going home
it takes time
to drive home, the curve
of mountains,
the slice of road through rocks.
a coined moon,
as silver and polished
white
as any moon seen.
it takes time to get home,
to find my way
through
tunnels, over the rattled bridges,
past the farm yards,
the lights already
out as everyone but you
is asleep.
it takes time to get home,
to travel alone,
the miles clicking past,
as you wait
by the window,
patiently for me.
to drive home, the curve
of mountains,
the slice of road through rocks.
a coined moon,
as silver and polished
white
as any moon seen.
it takes time to get home,
to find my way
through
tunnels, over the rattled bridges,
past the farm yards,
the lights already
out as everyone but you
is asleep.
it takes time to get home,
to travel alone,
the miles clicking past,
as you wait
by the window,
patiently for me.
the baker
it's less
about the kneading of dough,
the rolling
and cutting
into stars
and flowers, it's not
about the baking,
the rising,
the sweets of it all,
the icing.
it's beyond that now,
beyond
the pleasure of smiles
as they bite
into each new pastry,
nodding yes.
it's something else. it's
a way of life,
a way of living
without being told to stay
or go home.
about the kneading of dough,
the rolling
and cutting
into stars
and flowers, it's not
about the baking,
the rising,
the sweets of it all,
the icing.
it's beyond that now,
beyond
the pleasure of smiles
as they bite
into each new pastry,
nodding yes.
it's something else. it's
a way of life,
a way of living
without being told to stay
or go home.
the baker
it's less
about the kneading of dough,
the rolling
and cutting
into stars
and flowers, it's not
about the baking,
the rising,
the sweets of it all,
the icing.
it's beyond that now,
beyond
the pleasure of smiles
as they bite
into each new pastry,
nodding yes.
it's something else. it's
a way of life,
a way of living
without being told to stay
or go home.
about the kneading of dough,
the rolling
and cutting
into stars
and flowers, it's not
about the baking,
the rising,
the sweets of it all,
the icing.
it's beyond that now,
beyond
the pleasure of smiles
as they bite
into each new pastry,
nodding yes.
it's something else. it's
a way of life,
a way of living
without being told to stay
or go home.
they yellow plague
the yellow
dusting of spring
across
the cars, the sills,
puddling
in dry pools upon
each street.
the tentacles
of pollen
making your eyes
water,
making
you sneeze, cough
as you breathe.
it makes
you want the ocean.
the deep blue
cold.
the comfort of waves
embracing
you
bringing you back
to life.
dusting of spring
across
the cars, the sills,
puddling
in dry pools upon
each street.
the tentacles
of pollen
making your eyes
water,
making
you sneeze, cough
as you breathe.
it makes
you want the ocean.
the deep blue
cold.
the comfort of waves
embracing
you
bringing you back
to life.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
the marriage begins
in the new house
he measures
from top to bottom.
carefully,
side to side.
presses
tape into an x
where he decides to
hang
the picture,
as discussed.
he takes the nail
that waits
between his clenched
teeth
then drives it with
a hammer
into the wall.
the picture goes up,
balanced on a stiff wire.
he stands back.
she comes into the room
and says no.
we need to move it three
inches to the left.
the marriage begins.
running to the bank
some how you finish
the job
you're on
and get paid. having gone through
the myriad of
touch ups,
lines more accurately drawn.
filled in holes, again,
sanded, smoothed
the walls
and doors, beyond
reason.
somehow you've answered
every torn piece of blue
tape
the owner stuck
on each spot that concerned
him.
hundreds of torn strips,
some made into arrows,
pointing at the ceiling.
shadows that come and go.
a flurry of blue,
is that pin sized drip from
me or you?
he politely asks,
while you scrub
at an invisible spot
on the floor.
the job
you're on
and get paid. having gone through
the myriad of
touch ups,
lines more accurately drawn.
filled in holes, again,
sanded, smoothed
the walls
and doors, beyond
reason.
somehow you've answered
every torn piece of blue
tape
the owner stuck
on each spot that concerned
him.
hundreds of torn strips,
some made into arrows,
pointing at the ceiling.
shadows that come and go.
a flurry of blue,
is that pin sized drip from
me or you?
he politely asks,
while you scrub
at an invisible spot
on the floor.
running to the bank
some how you finish
the job
you're on
and get paid. having gone through
the myriad of
touch ups,
lines more accurately drawn.
filled in holes, again,
sanded, smoothed
the walls
and doors, beyond
reason.
somehow you've answered
every torn piece of blue
tape
the owner stuck
on each spot that concerned
him.
hundreds of torn strips,
some made into arrows,
pointing at the ceiling.
shadows that come and go.
a flurry of blue,
is that pin sized drip from
me or you?
he politely asks,
while you scrub
at an invisible spot
on the floor.
the job
you're on
and get paid. having gone through
the myriad of
touch ups,
lines more accurately drawn.
filled in holes, again,
sanded, smoothed
the walls
and doors, beyond
reason.
somehow you've answered
every torn piece of blue
tape
the owner stuck
on each spot that concerned
him.
hundreds of torn strips,
some made into arrows,
pointing at the ceiling.
shadows that come and go.
a flurry of blue,
is that pin sized drip from
me or you?
he politely asks,
while you scrub
at an invisible spot
on the floor.
the art of art
I've tried
art.
mangled a few dozen
canvases
with landscapes, sea
scapes
of roiling waves,
gulls,
a cove, out of focus
sail boats,
and blotted
swimmers. I've tried
to go the Hopper
route,
simple and sparse.
a story
between the lines of
nothing.
but failed.
Jackson Pollock is
more my speed, my
cup of tea,
spilling,
tossing paint, straddling
the white board,
splattering
is all
about me.
art.
mangled a few dozen
canvases
with landscapes, sea
scapes
of roiling waves,
gulls,
a cove, out of focus
sail boats,
and blotted
swimmers. I've tried
to go the Hopper
route,
simple and sparse.
a story
between the lines of
nothing.
but failed.
Jackson Pollock is
more my speed, my
cup of tea,
spilling,
tossing paint, straddling
the white board,
splattering
is all
about me.
not knowing
it's the unknown
that's
unsettling, what lies
beneath
the sea,
the still lake,
what's beyond our sight
or reach.
so much
is unknowable.
the dark side of the moon,
the stars
already gone.
so much unlearned
or seen
until it happens
or you arrive.
that's
unsettling, what lies
beneath
the sea,
the still lake,
what's beyond our sight
or reach.
so much
is unknowable.
the dark side of the moon,
the stars
already gone.
so much unlearned
or seen
until it happens
or you arrive.
not knowing
it's the unknown
that's
unsettling, what lies
beneath
the sea,
the still lake,
what's beyond our sight
or reach.
so much
is unknowable.
the dark side of the moon,
the stars
already gone.
so much unlearned
or seen
until it happens
or you arrive.
that's
unsettling, what lies
beneath
the sea,
the still lake,
what's beyond our sight
or reach.
so much
is unknowable.
the dark side of the moon,
the stars
already gone.
so much unlearned
or seen
until it happens
or you arrive.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
the apple
each apple
to its own destiny.
its own
way of life.
being picked or
chosen
to go on, or left
to ripen
on the tree
then falling to
the ground unused.
sometimes it seems
less a choice
and more
of what's written
before you
were born.
to its own destiny.
its own
way of life.
being picked or
chosen
to go on, or left
to ripen
on the tree
then falling to
the ground unused.
sometimes it seems
less a choice
and more
of what's written
before you
were born.
the apple
each apple
to its own destiny.
its own
way of life.
being picked or
chosen
to go on, or left
to ripen
on the tree
then falling to
the ground unused.
sometimes it seems
less a choice
and more
of what's written
before you
were born.
to its own destiny.
its own
way of life.
being picked or
chosen
to go on, or left
to ripen
on the tree
then falling to
the ground unused.
sometimes it seems
less a choice
and more
of what's written
before you
were born.
forgiveness
the man
who parked his car
in the center lane
then threw himself off
the bridge
left a note
apologizing for backing
up traffic.
it was a list of
apologies.
sorry to his wife,
his children,
his parents, everyone
he had let down
in his life.
he was sorry for disappointing
anyone since birth.
but he lived
and everyone in time
forgave him,
everyone
but those stuck in
traffic
on the bridge for
five hours.
who parked his car
in the center lane
then threw himself off
the bridge
left a note
apologizing for backing
up traffic.
it was a list of
apologies.
sorry to his wife,
his children,
his parents, everyone
he had let down
in his life.
he was sorry for disappointing
anyone since birth.
but he lived
and everyone in time
forgave him,
everyone
but those stuck in
traffic
on the bridge for
five hours.
Monday, April 18, 2016
how's the weather
despite your mother's
life long fascination
with the weather,
the weather channel
being her source
as well as the window
out to her backyard
where snow would rise,
rain would puddle,
winds would bend her trees,
it is the inside weather
that concerns her now.
the heat
within, or cold. that breeze
from an open door or fan
above the table.
the thermostat raised
or lowered
by a strange hand, someone
she sees everyday,
and yet still
doesn't know. how you miss
her asking,
from seven miles away,
is it snowing
there too?
life long fascination
with the weather,
the weather channel
being her source
as well as the window
out to her backyard
where snow would rise,
rain would puddle,
winds would bend her trees,
it is the inside weather
that concerns her now.
the heat
within, or cold. that breeze
from an open door or fan
above the table.
the thermostat raised
or lowered
by a strange hand, someone
she sees everyday,
and yet still
doesn't know. how you miss
her asking,
from seven miles away,
is it snowing
there too?
how's the weather
despite your mother's
life long fascination
with the weather,
the weather channel
being her source
as well as the window
out to her backyard
where snow would rise,
rain would puddle,
winds would bend her trees,
it is the inside weather
that concerns her now.
the heat
within, or cold. that breeze
from an open door or fan
above the table.
the thermostat raised
or lowered
by a strange hand, someone
she sees everyday,
and yet still
doesn't know. how you miss
her asking,
from seven miles away,
is it snowing
there too?
life long fascination
with the weather,
the weather channel
being her source
as well as the window
out to her backyard
where snow would rise,
rain would puddle,
winds would bend her trees,
it is the inside weather
that concerns her now.
the heat
within, or cold. that breeze
from an open door or fan
above the table.
the thermostat raised
or lowered
by a strange hand, someone
she sees everyday,
and yet still
doesn't know. how you miss
her asking,
from seven miles away,
is it snowing
there too?
the old police car
a car, a former
police car with large wheels,
black
and dull,
the searchlight still
on the door.
decals removed.
baby moons. an elderly couple
inside.
the man at the wheel
swings it into
a spot beside you.
fast and smooth.
when he gets out you see
that he no arms.
he's wearing slippers,
not shoes.
into Walgreens they go.
the same as anyone
in an old p0lice car
going down the road.
police car with large wheels,
black
and dull,
the searchlight still
on the door.
decals removed.
baby moons. an elderly couple
inside.
the man at the wheel
swings it into
a spot beside you.
fast and smooth.
when he gets out you see
that he no arms.
he's wearing slippers,
not shoes.
into Walgreens they go.
the same as anyone
in an old p0lice car
going down the road.
nothing
the televangelist
tells the audience to put
their hands
on the television.
to reach out
and surrender, to ask
that their
bursitis be gone.
get out your checkbooks.
I know it's you, he says,
eyes popping out,
a band of sweat
across his tanned brow.
there is someone
out there with a hurt knee,
he must come
forward
and kneel and touch
the screen.
I feel another man with
blurred vision,
come, come closer, believe
and see more clearly.
there is music
and speaking in tongues.
there is chaos.
you don't want to get up,
but you put your
slice of pizza
and beer down and go
to the tv. you touch
to top of it,
concentrating on your shoulder.
nothing.
tells the audience to put
their hands
on the television.
to reach out
and surrender, to ask
that their
bursitis be gone.
get out your checkbooks.
I know it's you, he says,
eyes popping out,
a band of sweat
across his tanned brow.
there is someone
out there with a hurt knee,
he must come
forward
and kneel and touch
the screen.
I feel another man with
blurred vision,
come, come closer, believe
and see more clearly.
there is music
and speaking in tongues.
there is chaos.
you don't want to get up,
but you put your
slice of pizza
and beer down and go
to the tv. you touch
to top of it,
concentrating on your shoulder.
nothing.
nothing
the televangelist
tells the audience to put
their hands
on the television.
to reach out
and surrender, to ask
that their
bursitis be gone.
get out your checkbooks.
I know it's you, he says,
eyes popping out,
a band of sweat
across his tanned brow.
there is someone
out there with a hurt knee,
he must come
forward
and kneel and touch
the screen.
I feel another man with
blurred vision,
come, come closer, believe
and see more clearly.
there is music
and speaking in tongues.
there is chaos.
you don't want to get up,
but you put your
slice of pizza
and beer down and go
to the tv. you touch
to top of it,
concentrating on your shoulder.
nothing.
tells the audience to put
their hands
on the television.
to reach out
and surrender, to ask
that their
bursitis be gone.
get out your checkbooks.
I know it's you, he says,
eyes popping out,
a band of sweat
across his tanned brow.
there is someone
out there with a hurt knee,
he must come
forward
and kneel and touch
the screen.
I feel another man with
blurred vision,
come, come closer, believe
and see more clearly.
there is music
and speaking in tongues.
there is chaos.
you don't want to get up,
but you put your
slice of pizza
and beer down and go
to the tv. you touch
to top of it,
concentrating on your shoulder.
nothing.
the healing
healing takes time.
more time
now than it did when you
were twenty
or even thirty.
the pain lingers,
the joints and tissues
taking their
time to mend, to send
the blood through,
to heal.
not so the heart though,
acceptance
works wonders
when moving on.
the heart has a memory
of how it's done,
becoming more
efficient with each love
gone.
more time
now than it did when you
were twenty
or even thirty.
the pain lingers,
the joints and tissues
taking their
time to mend, to send
the blood through,
to heal.
not so the heart though,
acceptance
works wonders
when moving on.
the heart has a memory
of how it's done,
becoming more
efficient with each love
gone.
the healing
healing takes time.
more time
now than it did when you
were twenty
or even thirty.
the pain lingers,
the joints and tissues
taking their
time to mend, to send
the blood through,
to heal.
not so the heart though,
acceptance
works wonders
when moving on.
the heart has a memory
of how it's done,
becoming more
efficient with each love
gone.
more time
now than it did when you
were twenty
or even thirty.
the pain lingers,
the joints and tissues
taking their
time to mend, to send
the blood through,
to heal.
not so the heart though,
acceptance
works wonders
when moving on.
the heart has a memory
of how it's done,
becoming more
efficient with each love
gone.
stick or snake
discerning stick from snake
is not an
easy thing to do when
riding fast
on your bike
down the wooded path.
it's not unlike
the day, the business
of the day,
discerning who will
bite, and be poisonous
and who
will be easy, making you
unafraid.
is not an
easy thing to do when
riding fast
on your bike
down the wooded path.
it's not unlike
the day, the business
of the day,
discerning who will
bite, and be poisonous
and who
will be easy, making you
unafraid.
stick or snake
discerning stick from snake
is not an
easy thing to do when
riding fast
on your bike
down the wooded path.
it's not unlike
the day, the business
of the day,
discerning who will
bite, and be poisonous
and who
will be easy, making you
unafraid.
is not an
easy thing to do when
riding fast
on your bike
down the wooded path.
it's not unlike
the day, the business
of the day,
discerning who will
bite, and be poisonous
and who
will be easy, making you
unafraid.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
getting saved
on sundays,
after your older brother
found God,
was saved, after he
applied the stickers to his
car,
He is risen, said one,
all will kneel
said another,
on sundays, in his new
suit,
his bow tie,
he'd pull back the sheets
and covers
from your tired
body
and say, get up, we're
all going to
church.
he'd go from room to room,
waking everyone.
his new Bible under his arm,
the gleam
in his eye boring through
you,
as you lay still,
hungover
from last night,
the scent of sarah
still
on your mind.
after your older brother
found God,
was saved, after he
applied the stickers to his
car,
He is risen, said one,
all will kneel
said another,
on sundays, in his new
suit,
his bow tie,
he'd pull back the sheets
and covers
from your tired
body
and say, get up, we're
all going to
church.
he'd go from room to room,
waking everyone.
his new Bible under his arm,
the gleam
in his eye boring through
you,
as you lay still,
hungover
from last night,
the scent of sarah
still
on your mind.
the open sea
tired of the painting
of the open sea
on your wall
you take it down, remove
the nail.
fill it
and move on.
you carry the painting
down
to the basement,
to the laundry room
where you hang
it over
the washer and dryer,
it's where
all the old paintings
go.
in the room
with laundry, bins
of papers,
of photographs,
of things you don't want
to see anymore.
you remember the day you
bought it,
how wonderful it was.
the colors, the white sails
of the distant
ships,
the roll of waves.
not summer, but after.
of the open sea
on your wall
you take it down, remove
the nail.
fill it
and move on.
you carry the painting
down
to the basement,
to the laundry room
where you hang
it over
the washer and dryer,
it's where
all the old paintings
go.
in the room
with laundry, bins
of papers,
of photographs,
of things you don't want
to see anymore.
you remember the day you
bought it,
how wonderful it was.
the colors, the white sails
of the distant
ships,
the roll of waves.
not summer, but after.
the open sea
tired of the painting
of the open sea
on your wall
you take it down, remove
the nail.
fill it
and move on.
you carry the painting
down
to the basement,
to the laundry room
where you hang
it over
the washer and dryer,
it's where
all the old paintings
go.
in the room
with laundry, bins
of papers,
of photographs,
of things you don't want
to see anymore.
you remember the day you
bought it,
how wonderful it was.
the colors, the white sails
of the distant
ships,
the roll of waves.
not summer, but after.
of the open sea
on your wall
you take it down, remove
the nail.
fill it
and move on.
you carry the painting
down
to the basement,
to the laundry room
where you hang
it over
the washer and dryer,
it's where
all the old paintings
go.
in the room
with laundry, bins
of papers,
of photographs,
of things you don't want
to see anymore.
you remember the day you
bought it,
how wonderful it was.
the colors, the white sails
of the distant
ships,
the roll of waves.
not summer, but after.
this perfect day
it's perfect.
the memorial service.
the memories shared by sons
and daughters.
the colleagues.
her former students coming
back to sing
her praises.
the day is perfect.
the sky blue,
the trees blooming with
spring.
the cathedral tall and forever
there
beside the small
sanctuary.
a woman sings a Scottish
song,
or two.
forgetting the words
in mid stream,
but recovers.
that too is perfect.
everything, but us, about
this day,
this dying, this remembering,
this memorial is perfect.
the memorial service.
the memories shared by sons
and daughters.
the colleagues.
her former students coming
back to sing
her praises.
the day is perfect.
the sky blue,
the trees blooming with
spring.
the cathedral tall and forever
there
beside the small
sanctuary.
a woman sings a Scottish
song,
or two.
forgetting the words
in mid stream,
but recovers.
that too is perfect.
everything, but us, about
this day,
this dying, this remembering,
this memorial is perfect.
this perfect day
it's perfect.
the memorial service.
the memories shared by sons
and daughters.
the colleagues.
her former students coming
back to sing
her praises.
the day is perfect.
the sky blue,
the trees blooming with
spring.
the cathedral tall and forever
there
beside the small
sanctuary.
a woman sings a Scottish
song,
or two.
forgetting the words
in mid stream,
but recovers.
that too is perfect.
everything, but us, about
this day,
this dying, this remembering,
this memorial is perfect.
the memorial service.
the memories shared by sons
and daughters.
the colleagues.
her former students coming
back to sing
her praises.
the day is perfect.
the sky blue,
the trees blooming with
spring.
the cathedral tall and forever
there
beside the small
sanctuary.
a woman sings a Scottish
song,
or two.
forgetting the words
in mid stream,
but recovers.
that too is perfect.
everything, but us, about
this day,
this dying, this remembering,
this memorial is perfect.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
are you driving?
you ask her about
the monkeys, the flying monkeys
sitting about her
cold castle, they are
wearing what looks
like doorman clothes,
gold braided jackets,
little hats,
gloves
curled pointed boots.
they are picking fleas off one
another's wings.
she dismisses your inquiry
by saying,
oh them.
they work for me.
it takes a while for her
to get ready.
the green pallor of her long
face needing
attention. she irons her
black cape.
uses a lint roller to get the
monkey hair off.
her nails, dagger sharp,
have to be painted red.
she has to boil
something in a cauldron
before we go and asks you to stir
with a long black spoon
while
she goes to the bathroom
to powder her nose.
read this curse out loud,
she says while you stir,
handing you a laminated card
with four lines of rhyming words.
when she comes out
of the bathroom
she asks if you're driving
or should we take
her broom,
to which you say, i'll
drive.
the monkeys, the flying monkeys
sitting about her
cold castle, they are
wearing what looks
like doorman clothes,
gold braided jackets,
little hats,
gloves
curled pointed boots.
they are picking fleas off one
another's wings.
she dismisses your inquiry
by saying,
oh them.
they work for me.
it takes a while for her
to get ready.
the green pallor of her long
face needing
attention. she irons her
black cape.
uses a lint roller to get the
monkey hair off.
her nails, dagger sharp,
have to be painted red.
she has to boil
something in a cauldron
before we go and asks you to stir
with a long black spoon
while
she goes to the bathroom
to powder her nose.
read this curse out loud,
she says while you stir,
handing you a laminated card
with four lines of rhyming words.
when she comes out
of the bathroom
she asks if you're driving
or should we take
her broom,
to which you say, i'll
drive.
the smooth road
the road pavers,
weary in the afternoon sun.
the steam
of black
tar filling the air,
browned ribbons of heat
seeping into
their eyes
their lungs.
everyone wants to get home
the line
of cars
stretch backwards
for miles,
easing through
a narrow one lane
of orange cones.
to make the road smooth,
any road,
there must
be pain and sacrifice.
weary in the afternoon sun.
the steam
of black
tar filling the air,
browned ribbons of heat
seeping into
their eyes
their lungs.
everyone wants to get home
the line
of cars
stretch backwards
for miles,
easing through
a narrow one lane
of orange cones.
to make the road smooth,
any road,
there must
be pain and sacrifice.
the smooth road
the road pavers,
weary in the afternoon sun.
the steam
of black
tar filling the air,
browned ribbons of heat
seeping into
their eyes
their lungs.
everyone wants to get home
the line
of cars
stretch backwards
for miles,
easing through
a narrow one lane
of orange cones.
to make the road smooth,
any road,
there must
be pain and sacrifice.
weary in the afternoon sun.
the steam
of black
tar filling the air,
browned ribbons of heat
seeping into
their eyes
their lungs.
everyone wants to get home
the line
of cars
stretch backwards
for miles,
easing through
a narrow one lane
of orange cones.
to make the road smooth,
any road,
there must
be pain and sacrifice.
Friday, April 15, 2016
into sleep
on these things
you think of,
memories, kind
and sweet.
the friends who have
washed away
on some distant
wave.
the bustle of time,
of youth
spent.
the blessings of people,
who come,
who leave.
on these things,
you take
to bed, to the pillow,
the sheets.
to the dark
room
that holds you as
slip into a welcoming
sleep.
you think of,
memories, kind
and sweet.
the friends who have
washed away
on some distant
wave.
the bustle of time,
of youth
spent.
the blessings of people,
who come,
who leave.
on these things,
you take
to bed, to the pillow,
the sheets.
to the dark
room
that holds you as
slip into a welcoming
sleep.
into sleep
on these things
you think of,
memories, kind
and sweet.
the friends who have
washed away
on some distant
wave.
the bustle of time,
of youth
spent.
the blessings of people,
who come,
who leave.
on these things,
you take
to bed, to the pillow,
the sheets.
to the dark
room
that holds you as
slip into a welcoming
sleep.
you think of,
memories, kind
and sweet.
the friends who have
washed away
on some distant
wave.
the bustle of time,
of youth
spent.
the blessings of people,
who come,
who leave.
on these things,
you take
to bed, to the pillow,
the sheets.
to the dark
room
that holds you as
slip into a welcoming
sleep.
small things
the world
will surprise you.
small things mostly.
the blue
bird on the sill.
the handwritten note
from a loved one
almost
lost.
there are days when
the sun
and clouds are magical
together.
when the moon is a moon
first seen
as a child
from
his bed, gazing out
the window
not far from sleep.
the world will surprise
you
with the kiss of a fall
breeze.
the smell of grass
freshly cut,
cinnamon,
coffee, the touch of her
hand
upon your shoulder.
will surprise you.
small things mostly.
the blue
bird on the sill.
the handwritten note
from a loved one
almost
lost.
there are days when
the sun
and clouds are magical
together.
when the moon is a moon
first seen
as a child
from
his bed, gazing out
the window
not far from sleep.
the world will surprise
you
with the kiss of a fall
breeze.
the smell of grass
freshly cut,
cinnamon,
coffee, the touch of her
hand
upon your shoulder.
friday cookout
it's Friday,
that means your neighbor
will be firing up his complicated
grill
and charring
meat out on his patio.
he'll put on his tall
white hat,
his apron, bring out
his long utensils,
the knife and fork,
a bottle of some secret
sauce. a slab of meat
lying on an enormous plate.
the smell and smoke
finds its way
through the creases
of your window
making your stomach
growl with hunger.
you shoveled their walk
this winter.
cleared it of snow,
and yet still no invite.
that means your neighbor
will be firing up his complicated
grill
and charring
meat out on his patio.
he'll put on his tall
white hat,
his apron, bring out
his long utensils,
the knife and fork,
a bottle of some secret
sauce. a slab of meat
lying on an enormous plate.
the smell and smoke
finds its way
through the creases
of your window
making your stomach
growl with hunger.
you shoveled their walk
this winter.
cleared it of snow,
and yet still no invite.
friday cookout
it's Friday,
that means your neighbor
will be firing up his complicated
grill
and charring
meat out on his patio.
he'll put on his tall
white hat,
his apron, bring out
his long utensils,
the knife and fork,
a bottle of some secret
sauce. a slab of meat
lying on an enormous plate.
the smell and smoke
finds its way
through the creases
of your window
making your stomach
growl with hunger.
you shoveled their walk
this winter.
cleared it of snow,
and yet still no invite.
that means your neighbor
will be firing up his complicated
grill
and charring
meat out on his patio.
he'll put on his tall
white hat,
his apron, bring out
his long utensils,
the knife and fork,
a bottle of some secret
sauce. a slab of meat
lying on an enormous plate.
the smell and smoke
finds its way
through the creases
of your window
making your stomach
growl with hunger.
you shoveled their walk
this winter.
cleared it of snow,
and yet still no invite.
we remember
so many
of the animals in the woods
die in relative
silence.
there is no
parade, or party, no
outpouring of grief.
no funeral. there are
no animals of the same
ilk
lining up
and giving speeches,
saying things
like remember
that time he found
a giant nut
and shared it with all
of us?
of the animals in the woods
die in relative
silence.
there is no
parade, or party, no
outpouring of grief.
no funeral. there are
no animals of the same
ilk
lining up
and giving speeches,
saying things
like remember
that time he found
a giant nut
and shared it with all
of us?
get a job
the united nations
denied your ex wife's
plea
and application to become
designated
as a world victim.
get a job, they said in
unison, in forty seven
languages,
all as one banging their
shoes and heels
against their school
like desks. get a job
and stop whining
about how meager
your alimony is.
denied your ex wife's
plea
and application to become
designated
as a world victim.
get a job, they said in
unison, in forty seven
languages,
all as one banging their
shoes and heels
against their school
like desks. get a job
and stop whining
about how meager
your alimony is.
get a job
the united nations
denied your ex wife's
plea
and application to become
designated
as a world victim.
get a job, they said in
unison, in forty seven
languages,
all as one banging their
shoes and heels
against their school
like desks. get a job
and stop whining
about how meager
your alimony is.
denied your ex wife's
plea
and application to become
designated
as a world victim.
get a job, they said in
unison, in forty seven
languages,
all as one banging their
shoes and heels
against their school
like desks. get a job
and stop whining
about how meager
your alimony is.
the saddest sound
is there any sadder sound
in the universe
than the sound of a can
of whipped cream
sputtering at its end
as you shake it,
pressing futilely at
the nozzle
trying to top off a bowl
of strawberry jello,
chilled and ready for
your spoon.
if there is such a sound,
one sadder, I know not
what it is.
in the universe
than the sound of a can
of whipped cream
sputtering at its end
as you shake it,
pressing futilely at
the nozzle
trying to top off a bowl
of strawberry jello,
chilled and ready for
your spoon.
if there is such a sound,
one sadder, I know not
what it is.
the saddest sound
is there any sadder sound
in the universe
than the sound of a can
of whipped cream
sputtering at its end
as you shake it,
pressing futilely at
the nozzle
trying to top off a bowl
of strawberry jello,
chilled and ready for
your spoon.
if there is such a sound,
one sadder, I know not
what it is.
in the universe
than the sound of a can
of whipped cream
sputtering at its end
as you shake it,
pressing futilely at
the nozzle
trying to top off a bowl
of strawberry jello,
chilled and ready for
your spoon.
if there is such a sound,
one sadder, I know not
what it is.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
in training
while training for an upcoming
3 k race
to cure
sleep apnea
I stop in the park and
rest for awhile.
I've already run a half
a k,
so I deserve it.
I lie down on a bench
with my leggings
and orange running shoes,
my head band
and wrist monitor
that informs me of my
progress.
I see people eating their
lunches. sandwiches and apples.
a woman over there
in yoga pants is licking
an ice cream cone.
although it might be frozen
yogurt.
this makes me think of the food
that I will reward
myself with after this workout.
I love running, so much.
but I like
lying on a bench
in the sun even more.
3 k race
to cure
sleep apnea
I stop in the park and
rest for awhile.
I've already run a half
a k,
so I deserve it.
I lie down on a bench
with my leggings
and orange running shoes,
my head band
and wrist monitor
that informs me of my
progress.
I see people eating their
lunches. sandwiches and apples.
a woman over there
in yoga pants is licking
an ice cream cone.
although it might be frozen
yogurt.
this makes me think of the food
that I will reward
myself with after this workout.
I love running, so much.
but I like
lying on a bench
in the sun even more.
the apple pie
just because she sends
me a photo
of the apple pie she made
in her brick oven
doesn't necessarily mean
that she wants
to be more than friends.
apple pie is not a metaphor
in any sense of the words.
or is it.
and in questioning if there will
be a scoop
of vanilla ice cream
going with that hot slice
of pie
would that
be asking for trouble?
me a photo
of the apple pie she made
in her brick oven
doesn't necessarily mean
that she wants
to be more than friends.
apple pie is not a metaphor
in any sense of the words.
or is it.
and in questioning if there will
be a scoop
of vanilla ice cream
going with that hot slice
of pie
would that
be asking for trouble?
the apple pie
just because she sends
me a photo
of the apple pie she made
in her brick oven
doesn't necessarily mean
that she wants
to be more than friends.
apple pie is not a metaphor
in any sense of the words.
or is it.
and in questioning if there will
be a scoop
of vanilla ice cream
going with that hot slice
of pie
would that
be asking for trouble?
me a photo
of the apple pie she made
in her brick oven
doesn't necessarily mean
that she wants
to be more than friends.
apple pie is not a metaphor
in any sense of the words.
or is it.
and in questioning if there will
be a scoop
of vanilla ice cream
going with that hot slice
of pie
would that
be asking for trouble?
the sanctuary
the interior of your car
is a sanctuary to which you can
yell out any word in the English
language without repercussions.
there's no parent, or child around,
no one of any consequence to your
life is within earshot.
you ask many questions along the way
to work, driving in insane traffic,
dodging defensively the wild ones.
usually you begin each sentence
with the words
what the ...
it feels good to curse.
sometimes you say it a few times,
and answer your own questions.
you discuss the traffic with yourself.
it's a relief in some strange way
to let the obscenities roll off
your tongue like linda blair
in the exorcist with her head
spinning around like a top, and no
one the wiser.
is a sanctuary to which you can
yell out any word in the English
language without repercussions.
there's no parent, or child around,
no one of any consequence to your
life is within earshot.
you ask many questions along the way
to work, driving in insane traffic,
dodging defensively the wild ones.
usually you begin each sentence
with the words
what the ...
it feels good to curse.
sometimes you say it a few times,
and answer your own questions.
you discuss the traffic with yourself.
it's a relief in some strange way
to let the obscenities roll off
your tongue like linda blair
in the exorcist with her head
spinning around like a top, and no
one the wiser.
the sanctuary
the interior of your car
is a sanctuary to which you can
yell out any word in the English
language without repercussions.
there's no parent, or child around,
no one of any consequence to your
life is within earshot.
you ask many questions along the way
to work, driving in insane traffic,
dodging defensively the wild ones.
usually you begin each sentence
with the words
what the ...
it feels good to curse.
sometimes you say it a few times,
and answer your own questions.
you discuss the traffic with yourself.
it's a relief in some strange way
to let the obscenities roll off
your tongue like linda blair
in the exorcist with her head
spinning around like a top, and no
one the wiser.
is a sanctuary to which you can
yell out any word in the English
language without repercussions.
there's no parent, or child around,
no one of any consequence to your
life is within earshot.
you ask many questions along the way
to work, driving in insane traffic,
dodging defensively the wild ones.
usually you begin each sentence
with the words
what the ...
it feels good to curse.
sometimes you say it a few times,
and answer your own questions.
you discuss the traffic with yourself.
it's a relief in some strange way
to let the obscenities roll off
your tongue like linda blair
in the exorcist with her head
spinning around like a top, and no
one the wiser.
the court date
for his court date
he decides to cut off his pony
tail
and comb whatever hair
remains
to the side.
parting it like a five
year old boy
standing in front
of the mirror before school,
his mother's large
hand holding his head still
for the task. he shaves then
buttons up a clean white shirt.
new pants.
steps into
the slippery new shoes.
perhaps this will persuade
the judge of his
innocence, or desire to turn
over a new leaf
and stop
the things he keeps doing.
he decides to cut off his pony
tail
and comb whatever hair
remains
to the side.
parting it like a five
year old boy
standing in front
of the mirror before school,
his mother's large
hand holding his head still
for the task. he shaves then
buttons up a clean white shirt.
new pants.
steps into
the slippery new shoes.
perhaps this will persuade
the judge of his
innocence, or desire to turn
over a new leaf
and stop
the things he keeps doing.
the lonely
when the house
was completely painted
and finished,
the canvas cloths put away.
the brushes cleaned,
the cans tossed,
or marked
to which room each belonged,
when she put the check
in your hand,
and said thank you,
it was then that she looked
around the room
and said aloud,
I think the color needs
to be just a little
lighter, don't you?
when can you return
and do it once more?
to which you replied,
in the spring. let's do it
again
in the spring.
was completely painted
and finished,
the canvas cloths put away.
the brushes cleaned,
the cans tossed,
or marked
to which room each belonged,
when she put the check
in your hand,
and said thank you,
it was then that she looked
around the room
and said aloud,
I think the color needs
to be just a little
lighter, don't you?
when can you return
and do it once more?
to which you replied,
in the spring. let's do it
again
in the spring.
the lonely
when the house
was completely painted
and finished,
the canvas cloths put away.
the brushes cleaned,
the cans tossed,
or marked
to which room each belonged,
when she put the check
in your hand,
and said thank you,
it was then that she looked
around the room
and said aloud,
I think the color needs
to be just a little
lighter, don't you?
when can you return
and do it once more?
to which you replied,
in the spring. let's do it
again
in the spring.
was completely painted
and finished,
the canvas cloths put away.
the brushes cleaned,
the cans tossed,
or marked
to which room each belonged,
when she put the check
in your hand,
and said thank you,
it was then that she looked
around the room
and said aloud,
I think the color needs
to be just a little
lighter, don't you?
when can you return
and do it once more?
to which you replied,
in the spring. let's do it
again
in the spring.
the reconciliation
because you didn't attend
the viewing,
the party before,
the party after, the funeral,
nor did you send
flowers or a card
he may not talk to you for
a few years,
but in time someone
else you both
know may pass away,
you can reconcile
then.
catch up, plan
lunch when time
and death permits.
the viewing,
the party before,
the party after, the funeral,
nor did you send
flowers or a card
he may not talk to you for
a few years,
but in time someone
else you both
know may pass away,
you can reconcile
then.
catch up, plan
lunch when time
and death permits.
the long nights
he used to wait
until the sun went down
before pouring his first drink.
then he thought,
why bother, why
wait. i'll pull the shades,
and get to it.
once settled in
with his cut lime, his tonic
water, his cubes of
ice in a tumbler,
then gin,
he'd sit by the window
and take out his phone.
he'd begin to call
each person he knew that would
listen to his long
list of grievances,
always adding how much
he loved
the person before beginning.
soon it was dark,
he opened
the curtains, the blinds,
to see
just a plain moon
blinking through
the soft clouds to which
he toasted
before staggering to bed.
until the sun went down
before pouring his first drink.
then he thought,
why bother, why
wait. i'll pull the shades,
and get to it.
once settled in
with his cut lime, his tonic
water, his cubes of
ice in a tumbler,
then gin,
he'd sit by the window
and take out his phone.
he'd begin to call
each person he knew that would
listen to his long
list of grievances,
always adding how much
he loved
the person before beginning.
soon it was dark,
he opened
the curtains, the blinds,
to see
just a plain moon
blinking through
the soft clouds to which
he toasted
before staggering to bed.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
the vacancy
the vacancy sign
is on,
so you pull in for the night.
it's a small place,
a spot outside
the door
you check in. one bag,
one night.
you sit on the bed
and take
your shoes off.
hit the tv on.
you lie back on the flowered
bedspread.
on the stiff mattress,
thin and worn.
you listen
to your neighbors next
door talking
about the grand canyon.
there's a picture of it on your
wall.
then nothing
for awhile.
you turn the light off,
undress.
turn off the tv.
you get a glass of water
setting it next
to the phone,
next to the heavy lamp
screwed in
to the wall.
you hear the couple
next door say goodnight
to one another.
you say it too.
is on,
so you pull in for the night.
it's a small place,
a spot outside
the door
you check in. one bag,
one night.
you sit on the bed
and take
your shoes off.
hit the tv on.
you lie back on the flowered
bedspread.
on the stiff mattress,
thin and worn.
you listen
to your neighbors next
door talking
about the grand canyon.
there's a picture of it on your
wall.
then nothing
for awhile.
you turn the light off,
undress.
turn off the tv.
you get a glass of water
setting it next
to the phone,
next to the heavy lamp
screwed in
to the wall.
you hear the couple
next door say goodnight
to one another.
you say it too.
the quiet
it's noisy
in here. everyone talking
at the same
time.
the clink of glasses,
the cutting
of knives,
the wandering
eyes.
you can't wait to get
out and go
home. lie in the silence
of your room.
put the phone on mute,
let the door
bell ring.
leave the world
alone.
in here. everyone talking
at the same
time.
the clink of glasses,
the cutting
of knives,
the wandering
eyes.
you can't wait to get
out and go
home. lie in the silence
of your room.
put the phone on mute,
let the door
bell ring.
leave the world
alone.
the quiet
it's noisy
in here. everyone talking
at the same
time.
the clink of glasses,
the cutting
of knives,
the wandering
eyes.
you can't wait to get
out and go
home. lie in the silence
of your room.
put the phone on mute,
let the door
bell ring.
leave the world
alone.
in here. everyone talking
at the same
time.
the clink of glasses,
the cutting
of knives,
the wandering
eyes.
you can't wait to get
out and go
home. lie in the silence
of your room.
put the phone on mute,
let the door
bell ring.
leave the world
alone.
don't tell anyone
don't tell anyone
I told you,
she says, then proceeds
to say a name,
a sin,
another name,
she mentions a motel
at the edge of town,
and asks
if I've ever been
to the diner
next to it,
or if I know a waitress
who works
there named Tammy.
skinny redhead?
she used to be a teacher,
but lost her job,
because of something
that I can't really talk about.
she's breathless
with not telling me
everything
she wants to tell me.
I nod no to everything,
please, go on, I say,
although
I already know
the whole story. why
stop her now though
and spoil her fun.
I told you,
she says, then proceeds
to say a name,
a sin,
another name,
she mentions a motel
at the edge of town,
and asks
if I've ever been
to the diner
next to it,
or if I know a waitress
who works
there named Tammy.
skinny redhead?
she used to be a teacher,
but lost her job,
because of something
that I can't really talk about.
she's breathless
with not telling me
everything
she wants to tell me.
I nod no to everything,
please, go on, I say,
although
I already know
the whole story. why
stop her now though
and spoil her fun.
the pull out bed
there was the night
you spent
on the pull out bed,
which during
the day
doubled as a couch.
bars and springs
at your back like a medieval
torture device.
no angle, no position
brought you
relief.
you slept no hours,
no minutes.
you could hear the soft
snore
of her
coming from the other
room.
her in her bed,
her queen sized bed.
her pillows,
her water.
her dog curled at her
feet.
it wasn't the only reason
you stopped seeing her,
but was on
the list.
you spent
on the pull out bed,
which during
the day
doubled as a couch.
bars and springs
at your back like a medieval
torture device.
no angle, no position
brought you
relief.
you slept no hours,
no minutes.
you could hear the soft
snore
of her
coming from the other
room.
her in her bed,
her queen sized bed.
her pillows,
her water.
her dog curled at her
feet.
it wasn't the only reason
you stopped seeing her,
but was on
the list.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
gift card
I didn't really need
another pair of black shoes.
so what.
I have them now.
the birthday
gift card of ten dollars
off from dsw
spurred me on.
at night i set the new pair
with the other pairs
of black shoes,
all in a row.
they seem happy together.
it's good to
have new friends.
another pair of black shoes.
so what.
I have them now.
the birthday
gift card of ten dollars
off from dsw
spurred me on.
at night i set the new pair
with the other pairs
of black shoes,
all in a row.
they seem happy together.
it's good to
have new friends.
gift card
I didn't really need
another pair of black shoes.
so what.
I have them now.
the birthday
gift card of ten dollars
off from dsw
spurred me on.
at night i set the new pair
with the other pairs
of black shoes,
all in a row.
they seem happy together.
it's good to
have new friends.
another pair of black shoes.
so what.
I have them now.
the birthday
gift card of ten dollars
off from dsw
spurred me on.
at night i set the new pair
with the other pairs
of black shoes,
all in a row.
they seem happy together.
it's good to
have new friends.
the building
i regret moving
into the Roosevelt apartment
building.
although the lobby
has been upgraded.
new plants. paint.
a new black and white tiled
floor.
but the hallways are
long dark tunnels
that lead to Moscow.
cabbage boiling.
goats,
chickens. children
moaning.
there's a blood stain
outside
the elevator
on my floor.
someone put sand on it.
someone broke into my cage
in the basement
and took all my Christmas
decorations and photo
albums.
it's best to avoid
eye contact
in the elevator
and to hold your breath.
they're pulling
possum out
of the pool to have it
ready by
memorial day.
i can hardly wait.
into the Roosevelt apartment
building.
although the lobby
has been upgraded.
new plants. paint.
a new black and white tiled
floor.
but the hallways are
long dark tunnels
that lead to Moscow.
cabbage boiling.
goats,
chickens. children
moaning.
there's a blood stain
outside
the elevator
on my floor.
someone put sand on it.
someone broke into my cage
in the basement
and took all my Christmas
decorations and photo
albums.
it's best to avoid
eye contact
in the elevator
and to hold your breath.
they're pulling
possum out
of the pool to have it
ready by
memorial day.
i can hardly wait.
whistling
I associate
whistling with pain
or craziness.
the dentist with needle
in hand,
whistling,
the crazy person on
the street,
whistling.
the ex wife
twiddling her thumbs,
pondering her next
move,
whistling.
the tax lady,
her fingers clicking
on the adding
machine.
whistling.
whistling with pain
or craziness.
the dentist with needle
in hand,
whistling,
the crazy person on
the street,
whistling.
the ex wife
twiddling her thumbs,
pondering her next
move,
whistling.
the tax lady,
her fingers clicking
on the adding
machine.
whistling.
the island diet
let's go on a diet together,
she says to you,
as you dig out
the last spoon of ice
cream from the small tub
of ben and jerry's
chunky monkey.
do we have any whipped cream
left, you ask. needing one
squirt to top it off.
nope. I used it all on
the jello we had yesterday.
so what kind of diet are
we talking about?
no bread, no pasta, just cardboard
tasting food?
no, not at all. it's the new
island diet.
fruits and vegetables, fish.
natural things.
pineapples and coconuts.
what about wild boar?
boars are natural and run
wild all over many islands.
maybe in limited amounts.
we need to get ready for
our cruise this summer.
I tried on my tent dress
the other day and it was kind
of tight.
okay. let's do it, but first
it might be a good idea
to finish off that bacon
in the fridge. why waste
it and it will go bad in
a few weeks if we don't
eat it. right? right, she says.
scramble up some eggs
too, toast?
whole wheat for me, you tell her.
one pad of butter.
she says to you,
as you dig out
the last spoon of ice
cream from the small tub
of ben and jerry's
chunky monkey.
do we have any whipped cream
left, you ask. needing one
squirt to top it off.
nope. I used it all on
the jello we had yesterday.
so what kind of diet are
we talking about?
no bread, no pasta, just cardboard
tasting food?
no, not at all. it's the new
island diet.
fruits and vegetables, fish.
natural things.
pineapples and coconuts.
what about wild boar?
boars are natural and run
wild all over many islands.
maybe in limited amounts.
we need to get ready for
our cruise this summer.
I tried on my tent dress
the other day and it was kind
of tight.
okay. let's do it, but first
it might be a good idea
to finish off that bacon
in the fridge. why waste
it and it will go bad in
a few weeks if we don't
eat it. right? right, she says.
scramble up some eggs
too, toast?
whole wheat for me, you tell her.
one pad of butter.
Monday, April 11, 2016
three hail marys
her knees
are calloused from prayer.
she is so
good.
an angel.
so you wonder why she prays
so hard,
so often,
always at church.
always
at confession.
what sins could she possibly
be confessing.
it must
be because of you,
no other reason comes to
mind.
are calloused from prayer.
she is so
good.
an angel.
so you wonder why she prays
so hard,
so often,
always at church.
always
at confession.
what sins could she possibly
be confessing.
it must
be because of you,
no other reason comes to
mind.
three hail marys
her knees
are calloused from prayer.
she is so
good.
an angel.
so you wonder why she prays
so hard,
so often,
always at church.
always
at confession.
what sins could she possibly
be confessing.
it must
be because of you,
no other reason comes to
mind.
are calloused from prayer.
she is so
good.
an angel.
so you wonder why she prays
so hard,
so often,
always at church.
always
at confession.
what sins could she possibly
be confessing.
it must
be because of you,
no other reason comes to
mind.
pbj
as I spread
the peanut butter across an
open potato
roll
with the wide knife,
the only knife
I use for this particular
task,
then the grape jelly,
some hitting the floor,
I think of
an island
where I could go.
white sand, blue water,
palm trees,
music in the background,
from the south pacific.
plenty of bikinis
to go around.
a cold drink in hand.
shades on. stretched out
covered in coconut oil.
snapping my
fingers for another pina
colada,
another sandwich
without the crust,
salmon, perhaps, or shrimp.
anything
but peanut butter.
the peanut butter across an
open potato
roll
with the wide knife,
the only knife
I use for this particular
task,
then the grape jelly,
some hitting the floor,
I think of
an island
where I could go.
white sand, blue water,
palm trees,
music in the background,
from the south pacific.
plenty of bikinis
to go around.
a cold drink in hand.
shades on. stretched out
covered in coconut oil.
snapping my
fingers for another pina
colada,
another sandwich
without the crust,
salmon, perhaps, or shrimp.
anything
but peanut butter.
marriage proposal
you decide to marry her
based solely
on her pot roast
and mashed potatoes.
mushroom gravy.
green beans, and sour
dough bread,
crusty, right from
the oven, warm.
there's a few other things
too, that
have won you over,
but mostly it's
the pot roast.
in a few years you might
regret it,
but for now, you're
hungry.
based solely
on her pot roast
and mashed potatoes.
mushroom gravy.
green beans, and sour
dough bread,
crusty, right from
the oven, warm.
there's a few other things
too, that
have won you over,
but mostly it's
the pot roast.
in a few years you might
regret it,
but for now, you're
hungry.
whole lotta love
the scratched record,
led
zeppelin,
a whole lotta love,
skips
at a certain point
and you have
to get up
to lift the needle
to push it
forward.
your mother stamps
on the floor, yells
through the vent to
turn it down.
the room is full of smoke,
a casement window
cracked open,
beer cans,
shoes are off,
everyone is in state of
utter disarray,
and comfort.
there is no tomorrow.
not for perry, or axe,
or jim,
or henry, or
dana. this is the life
they will stay in.
somehow you
escaped.
you still have the album
pinned to your
wall, but they're
gone.
led
zeppelin,
a whole lotta love,
skips
at a certain point
and you have
to get up
to lift the needle
to push it
forward.
your mother stamps
on the floor, yells
through the vent to
turn it down.
the room is full of smoke,
a casement window
cracked open,
beer cans,
shoes are off,
everyone is in state of
utter disarray,
and comfort.
there is no tomorrow.
not for perry, or axe,
or jim,
or henry, or
dana. this is the life
they will stay in.
somehow you
escaped.
you still have the album
pinned to your
wall, but they're
gone.
whole lotta love
the scratched record,
led
zeppelin,
a whole lotta love,
skips
at a certain point
and you have
to get up
to lift the needle
to push it
forward.
your mother stamps
on the floor, yells
through the vent to
turn it down.
the room is full of smoke,
a casement window
cracked open,
beer cans,
shoes are off,
everyone is in state of
utter disarray,
and comfort.
there is no tomorrow.
not for perry, or axe,
or jim,
or henry, or
dana. this is the life
they will stay in.
somehow you
escaped.
you still have the album
pinned to your
wall, but they're
gone.
led
zeppelin,
a whole lotta love,
skips
at a certain point
and you have
to get up
to lift the needle
to push it
forward.
your mother stamps
on the floor, yells
through the vent to
turn it down.
the room is full of smoke,
a casement window
cracked open,
beer cans,
shoes are off,
everyone is in state of
utter disarray,
and comfort.
there is no tomorrow.
not for perry, or axe,
or jim,
or henry, or
dana. this is the life
they will stay in.
somehow you
escaped.
you still have the album
pinned to your
wall, but they're
gone.
the unloved
the unloved
are no different than
the loved.
although
they seem to be more
happy,
more inclined
to give up their
seat on the bus,
hold a door,
say good morning.
how you long to be
this kind.
one of them, more
alive.
are no different than
the loved.
although
they seem to be more
happy,
more inclined
to give up their
seat on the bus,
hold a door,
say good morning.
how you long to be
this kind.
one of them, more
alive.
the unloved
the unloved
are no different than
the loved.
although
they seem to be more
happy,
more inclined
to give up their
seat on the bus,
hold a door,
say good morning.
how you long to be
this kind.
one of them, more
alive.
are no different than
the loved.
although
they seem to be more
happy,
more inclined
to give up their
seat on the bus,
hold a door,
say good morning.
how you long to be
this kind.
one of them, more
alive.
day labor
he says, i'm not afraid
of hard work.
I like to work. i'll get
down on my knees
and do what needs to be done.
but once paid,
he changes his point of view,
finds a cheap
wine, a woman, a place
to rest,
a place to be rich with
what little he's made,
a place
to take off his worn clothes,
his shoes.
of hard work.
I like to work. i'll get
down on my knees
and do what needs to be done.
but once paid,
he changes his point of view,
finds a cheap
wine, a woman, a place
to rest,
a place to be rich with
what little he's made,
a place
to take off his worn clothes,
his shoes.
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