how it ends

she tells me
that he won't
leave his wife
for me, at least
i hope not. how
could i live
with myself
knowing that i
broke up that home,
the kids are so
young, the wife
doesn't have a
clue, at least
not yet, i mean
as far as i know.
and so, i ask
her, just how
do you think all
of this will
end, for you
and him, and
them. this love
affair, this
fling of yours,
and she sighs
and says, badly,
very badly,
i presume.

when it comes

there is no
bargaining
with it. when
it comes, it
comes, and
there is no
discussion, no
turning away,
and saying
no thank you,
i think i'll
wait a little
while longer,
play some
more, and stay.

unchain my heart

i'm listening
to joe cocker
sing and wail
unchain my
heart while i
sit in a coffee
shop on king
street. i love
that song and
wish to hell
that i had
written it. it
says everything
i want to say
and more. one
line says, i
don't mean a bag
of beans to
you anymore,
damn. that's
poetry in it's
finest form.
play it again
and again, i
can't get enough
of heart ache
out the door.

marriage

what more is there
to say, that hasn't
already been said
so many times before.
and yet, knowing you,
i know you'll find
a way to say something
new, to find more.
and when we finish
this round of sparring,
dancing the same
old steps to the
same sad song,
when the bottle is dry,
and the moon is no
longer out there,
hanging like a pale
reminder of love, in
a long ago sky, we'll
stop, and you and i
will go to our
separate rooms, and
pretend once more
that what we've said
hasn't diminished the
love we had thirty
years ago when
this argument began.

the paper cut

don't worry,
this too shall
pass. be brave,
stand tall,
suck it up and
be a man. this
will heal, don't
sweat the small
cuts, this paper
slice on the tip
of your finger,
that bleeds
and swells
and glows red
like a bite
from a really
small snake
with sharp
tiny fangs.
where did i put
that one pound
tube of
neosporin?
the ace bandage?
my day is ruined.
how will i
hold my cup
of coffee from
starbuck's
with that corrugated
carboard sleeve?
i'll never pick
up another piece
of paper again,
as God is my
witness. i've
learned my
lesson. come here,
put your arms
around me. i
could use a hug.

my new books

eat less,
walk more
is the title
of my new
self help
diet book.
oprah thinks
it's swell.
speak less,
think more, is
on the way
too and will
be on a book
store shelf
before you
know it. the
cover is a
mouth closed
by a zipper,
there are
plans too
for shutup,
while the
movie is on,
and quit kicking
my seat, plus
in paperback
soon is
please, use
your turn
signal, moron.
but that may
sound harsh.
so i'm working
on a new title
for the second
printing.
i also have a
rough draft for
the book titled,
why my mother
doesn't have
my cell phone
number, but
it's only in
the outline
stage. i will
be signing
them at various
bookstores
across the
country. bring
money.

it's all about me

you pick the newspaper
up from the front porch,
looking up and down
the street for nothing
really, just looking
as the cold air rushes
up against your legs
and down the long
blousey sleeves of
your silk pajamas.
sockless you stamp
your feet and bring
the paper in and stare
at the front page. it's
all about you. your name
in bold black ink is
the headline. it exclaims
that you are in love again,
and you blink, you shake
your head, could this
news be true. details
within. A-10, you turn
the pages, the metro
section declares where
you parked last night
how the meter ran out
of quarters as you sat
drinking and eating
a lobster roll at the
bar with your new fing,
your panamanian paramour.
they have a picture of
her blocking her face
with her white purse.
the financial section shows
a graph of your bank
statements, what has
come in and what is
about to go out as the
IRS leans in with pincers
and cashed checks pinned
onto their white shirted
chests. and the style
section talks about what
you wore, jeans again
and a nice white shirt
from the gap, buttoned
down and starched,
untucked, your new chocolate
leather coat that repels
spilled martinis, and
new shoes. always with
the new shoes. and the sport's
section shows you lifting
weights in the basement,
doing push ups, sit ups,
looking at yourelf in
the mirror pinching the
side of your belly, measuring
the fat of you. getting
ready. they show you on
your bike pedaling
the lake, cold bitten,
and gloved. your lips
blue against the winter
sky. the food
section is the shortest
section of all. a picture
of a frying pan and three
eggs are all you see.
uncracked and rolling
like stones in the black
flat pan. a salt and
pepper shaker stand by.
you skip the obituaries,
after all you are still
here, but you can't fathom
how the paper has done
this, how they have
reported your life in
detail, so clearly for all
to read about and see,
you are stunned,
but you call up
and subscribe, you can't
wait for tomorrow's news,
to know more, to see a new
headline, because
it's all about me.

go back to sleep

go back to sleep.
roll over, i'll
pull the shades.
it's still early,
it's still morning,
it's sunday and
there is no where
we need to go. go
back to sleep, don't
worry about me, i'm
here. i'm next to
you, i'm warm and
happy. i'm just
wide awake with
something on my
mind. it's nothing
really. it's an itch,
a thought that
lingers. it's nothing
really. go back to
sleep. i'm here.

january blues

it's cold again.
janaury is white
and without mystery.
it is blue and grey
against the still
earth. birds
shiver in the pines.
and we hold gloved
hands, kiss against
the speeding hours
of time.

rag mountain

i have new hiking
boots, she says
over the phone.
they're brown and
lace up almost to
my knees. very strong
and sturdy boots.
great i tell her.
that's swell. let's
go hike rag mountain,
she adds on.
i hesitate, then
say, for what?
because it's fun,
she says. and i
say. is there coffee,
do we have to drive
to get there, what
about the bathrooms,
are there wild
bears roaming about.
how long will it take?
can you fall off and die?
she says, you are such
a girl. and i say,
i'm not, but yes,
i'd rather go shopping
at nordstroms, i hear
there's an all day
sale on italian
coats, and black slacks.
i could use a new
pair of brown shoes
too, the ones i have
are a tad tight
in the toes.

she's angry all the time

she's angry
all the time.
her letters,
her texts, her
e mail reflects
a dark and
sad side. it's
a heavy water
that rises
over her,
holds her down
each day. she
smiles, but
it's like the
sun trying
to burst through
thirty years
of doubt and
clouds. and you
feel for her,
because there
is nothing
you can do.
all of your good
intentions
are just empty
cold balloons.

one day you notice

a long line
that stretches
out the door
of the building
on 5th avenue.
there are no
signs, no
indication as
to what the line
is for, but
you get in it
just the same.
you feel that
you are missing
something
and perhaps
this is
where you'll
find it. perhaps
they know what
you're looking
for within,
within those
open doors
where people
stand and shift
their weight,
expecting
so much more
from their lives,
without trying
or thinking. so
you join them.

what's for dinner

as she puts a leg
and a thigh onto
your dish, you scream
but i don't
want chicken again
for dinner. you slam
your fist down onto
the table, and you
rattle the bright green
peas around
on your plate, bouncing
some of them off
the edge, to the
floor where the
dog nonchalantly inhales
them, and coughs.
why chicken,
why do we eat so much
chicken you yell out
in protest. do you
have any idea of the
hormones that they
inject into these things
to make them fat and
grow at the speed
of light, from egg
into roaster almost
overnight. do you know
how bad these chickens
are for our health.
she sits down and calmly
says grace. i hope
these chickens don't
kill us she says.
now shut up and eat.
and besides, all you
have at your house
is oatmeal.

the happy girl

your happiness
bothers me. it's
very annoying
how you bounce
around in your
happy feet, with
your happy smile,
and cupcake treats
with frosting
and sprinkles,
right out of
the oven of your
happy kitchen
and happy home.
i'd like to move
in if you have
enough room and
don't mind a little,
just once in awhile
doom and gloom.
think hard about
it. maybe then, i
can be happy too.

penny for your thoughts

a penny for
your thoughts
has been replaced
by a dollar for
your inner most
longings and feelings
about life and us,
where we are going
with this relationship.
who stops to pick
up a penny anymore,
unless it's really
shiny and catching
the light, who can
resist that. but i
digress and have
rambled on about the
penny when what i
really wanted to talk
about was you and me,
not the penny that
you won't pick up or
bother with when you
see it on your walk.

leche cake

the cake is
white and square
and sits in
sweet milk
and is soft and
covered in a
bright whipped
cream icing.
the body of it
vanilla, a deep
dense yellow like
sunlight through
a church window
in mexico or spain,
and it melts like
powdered sugar
in your mouth,
and it warms you,
makes you want
for more. makes
you lean forward
with your small
silver fork
and take another
bite. always
more. and that's
the secret of
your madness
right there.
always wanting
more of
everything
than you
should have.

milkman

when i was a
milkman in 1963
we'd deliver
quart and gallon
bottles all
morning. setting
them on the stoops
with eggs and
bread, sometimes
bacon, or butter
too. and the bottles
would clink and sing
like a sweet
boy's choir,
as the truck drove
along the quiet
streets, dark as
the other side
of an untouched moon.

compromise

you try so hard
to get the spot
out of your shirt.
you pride yourself
on your appearance,
on how you look when
in the presence
of others. but
it's your favorite
shirt, and this
red spot won't
go away. it's a dot
the size of a
quarter that won't
disappear. you try
everything from
over and under
the counter. magic
sticks and such, it's
still there though
when you pull it
from the wash and
spin it in the
dryer. you can't
erase this blemish.
and yet you love
this shirt, so you
decide to wear
it despite of
how it looks. you
have compromised
your life in so
many other ways,
so why not this,
you reason.

when the sun goes down

she used to say
to me, when blue,
when under
the weather
of the season,
when the sky was
low and light and
grey, she used to
say, i'm no friend
of daylight anymore.
i'm invisible to men
my age, or more,
or even less. my
curves aren't what
they used to be, i
don't walk or look
the same way. the
way i did when i was
young and they'd
blow their horn,
or whistle, and wink,
or ask me for my
number when in line
at the grocery
store, or in a
laundry mat folding
tomorrow's clothes.
give me the night,
she'd say. at least i
have a fighting chance
when the sun goes down.

winning the lottery

you win the lottery
and vow that it won't
change you, but it
does. the first thing
you do is buy a diamond
ring the size of a
walnut and put it
in your ear. now they
know that you have
arrived. then you get
a white car. maybe
a mercedes, or a
cadillac. you get a
shiny black cane with
a golden knob at the
top so that you can
knock the littles out
of the way when you
are passing through.
you find a bevy of
women who will worship
and admire you while
you walk about being
rich and suddenly
handsome. but that's
it, that's all you do,
you haven't really
changed after all.
it's who you've been
all these years anyway.

Ravioli Madness

the waiter brings you
a hot plate full of
small soft squares,
with scalloped edges,
plump like little
pillows covered
in a deep dark red
sauce, the steam
rises up like
heaven into your nose
your eyes, your soul.
the pasta is fragile
and subtle like a
sensuous kiss as it
hits your parted lips
and your tongue folds
around the spices and
the flavor of cheese
and sauce together.
you almost faint with
happiness, and grab
the table, as your fork
gets another, and then
another, you can't
stop yourself,
as the sauce begins
to splatter onto
your white shirt.
the wine spills down
your throat. you
are with someone, but
you've stopped
listening to her
a long time ago, she
babbles on and on
about herself, telling
you things you don't
care about. if she
removed her dress
and stood there in
her black silky
underwear and said
i'm yours, i love you,
take me now. it wouldn't
matter. because it's
all about the ravioli
now. it's too late,
much too late for her.

Elvis in a box

she used
to carry her
dog, elvis,
in a little
pink box,
with rhinestones
embedded in
the side.
it had a handle
so that she
could carry it
like a suitcase
around town.
and elvis,
this white poodle
with dripping
black eyes would
whimper and cry
while everyone
came up to peek
in and pet him
and would say,
poor little elvis
oh, my.

the swimmer

you wave goodbye
to her on the shore,
and tell her that
you love her, that'll
you'll be back soon.
you kiss her on
the lips and hand
her your clothes,
your shoes, your watch.
wait for me on
the beach, you tell her.
wait right her, i'll
be back. just wait.
and you dive cleanly
into the glistening
waves, you begin
to swim, the ocean
is calm and inviting,
it is the color of
the sky, egg blue
and sways like a
sheet of silver foil
as far as the eye
can see. a warm
morning sun, just
rising whispers
like a siren, to
come in, to come on.
go, and so you do.
you swim out, one arm
over the other, your
strong legs kicking
up white in the gentle
waves, further and
further you swim out
until the water is
no longer blue, but
grey and dark with
the bottom and what
lies beneath, you
have gone too far,
and your arms and
legs are weary, and you
can taste the salt
of breaking waves
in your mouth, your
lips are raw, your
eyes burn. your heart
is about to burst
with something like
sadness, you
have gone too far
and you turn towards
shore to see if you
can see her, but
she's not there. she
is gone, perhaps
she was never there,
but you look back
and hope just the same.

light and easy

write a sweet
poem, she says,
offer up something
light and easy,
fun, soft hearted,
kind and breezy.
no angst attached,
no grim reminders
of what's to come
or what lies buried
in the past, just
feed me a dessert
strand of lines,
all meringue, all
icing, all deep
without the dark,
and candy sweet.
just touch
the surface of
our hurried
unexamined lives
and go no further,
please, tell us lies.

the winter red fox

she was thick
with fur, red
with fringed bursts
of gold throughout
as she darted and
stopped and stared
before nightfall,
as i rolled through
slowly, taking
the cold into
my lungs, feeling
the sting of stars
of winter wind
upon my face, and
ice was on the ground,
and patches of
grey snow. and the red
fox as quick and
light as love
can be sometimes
was still and more
still as i approached
and when i blinked
as i went from sun
into shadow, she
was gone.

her birthday

you appear to be
angry today.
was it something
i said, or did
to make you fold
your arms and have
your pretty face go
red. what is it now
that has you in a
snit, has steam
coming out of your
ears. i'm running
through my mental
list of possibilities
but i can't think
of anything, nothing.
zippo. so what gives,
have i forgotten
something, have i
let you down in any
way. you know that
i love you, i show it
and say it all the
time. so what's
the deal. why the
long face baby, why
are you soooo mad
at me today and
pointing at the
calendar?

the oatmeal blues

i settled on
a bowl of oatmeal
for dinner. the one
minute kind. boil
the water and a
minute later, dinner
is served.
it's all i have
except for the cans
of tuna in spring
water. but there
are no onions to
be found, or bread,
or tomatoes on
or off the vine.
no lettuce. well,
what used to be
lettuce is in
the crisper, but
it's stuck and
i can't get it open.
so it's oatmeal
tonight. i even have
some brown sugar to
sprinkle on it and
make it fancy. i'm
not complaining,
i'm just saying.
oatmeal, for god's
sake is all i have.

the mansion

the light
in the foyer
sizzled
and crackled
for a second
or two, before
it popped and
burned
out, it was
just one bulb,
enough to
dim the room,
but it's
twenty feet
up in the air.
almost
unreachable,
and it's
a special bulb
the kind you
have to order
online, from
china,
i hate
this house.

just for tonight

kiss me
slow and easy.
take your
time. pretend
that you love me.
just for tonight,
whisper words like
i'll never
leave you,
i'll always be
yours, my heart
beats just
for you. i
love you more
than anything,
or anyone. even
chocolate. say
crazy things
like that,
but just for
tonight. if it
goes on any
further than
tonight,
i can't see
you anymore, it
just wouldn't
feel right.

everyone

how sickness
betrays
the body, that
wants so badly
to keep going,
to stay pink
and fresh, forever
in some state
of being young,
but that shadow
or lump, or
wound that won't
heal defies logic,
or reason and
puts you on your
knees, or sends you
reeling in despair.
there is no
fairness in any
of it, no one,
as they say, gets
out alive, everyone
will find time,
when it's time,
to be done,
and die.

what tomorrow brings

and as he
goes out
to cut the grass
that never
stops growing
despite how
short, how often
it gets mowed,
no matter how
deep the winter
snow.
he wonders
what tomorrow
will bring.
and he pulls
the rope
to get it going,
the rusted mower,
it's engine
belching out
a small
cloud of blue oil
and steam, and
coughing. churning
the blades for
one more spring,
and once again, he
pushes it down
in long straight
stripes across
the yard. from
east to west, then
north to south.

Argentina

a woman sends you
an e mail, she's from
south america and her
name is esmeralda.
she wants you to come
and make love to her.
she sends you pictures
of herself on the beach
in a white bikini.
her legs are long and
her black hair is wet,
glistening down
her back. she is
smiling. she is full
of moonlight. so without
blinking you board
a plane and head for
argentina. you have
never been there, but
you suspect that it's
very hot, so you buy
a white suit and
a white fedora to
shade your eyes. you
have all of your money
in a suitcase. you
have sold your house,
your car, cashed in
your savings, sold
your furniture, all of
your belongings are gone
except what for what
you carry, and what you
wear. you have told no
one where you are going.
no farewell notes have
been written. it's
better that way.
you are free to start
a new life, here, in
a country that you
don't know the language,
that you don't have
a clue as to where
you are, or how to
get around. you feel
like you've done this
before though,
many times. you get
off the plane and look
for her, but she's not
there waiting, she's
no where in sight, so
you wait and wait, but
the day turns into night
and she is not to be
found. and so you
begin to walk, you
notice how blue the
sky is as the sun sets,
how green the trees are.
it's a strange world
of exotic birds,
and dark eyes,
but it's very humid
and your suit is wet
on your skin, you
are suddenly tired
and lost. you feel
that once again you
may have done the wrong
thing, fallen in love
with an ephemeral woman
and given up everything
to have her.

through the night

close the window.
it's cold
tonight. turn
the heat up, put
a fire on. we
might need another
blanket. come to
bed, get close
and keep me
warm. the winters
are getting longer
as we get
older, i'm glad
that we have
each other though,
to get us through
the night.

friendship

over eggs
and coffee i
hear your
confession.
i listen, i
eat, i drink
from my hot
cup and nod.
i leave my
sins out of
it. they would
only confuse
you. it's best
for you to
think that
i'm good, that
i'm pure and
without fault.
i won't tell
you what to
do or how
to save yourself,
or how to get
your life
back on track.
there is
only one
savior, one
cross. but i'll
listen, i'll
pray, i'll
be there for
you, do whatever,
almost, whatever
you ask. i'm
your friend
to the bitter
end.

the man within

you leave
the room to get
away from yourself.
but you follow, you
have no choice.
even sleep cannot
rid you of who
you have become.
your life is
beyond your grasp.
the things you say,
and how you behave,
disgust you.
you want to tell
others though,
that this is not
you, that you
are better than
this, that your heart
is soft, that
your love for others
and the world is
large. you want
everyone to ignore
the words that come
out of your mouth,
and how you behave,
and to see the real
you, the person within.
but they can't,
you've been at this
too long, you
are too far gone.
you are lost and
can't be found. it's
much too late.

mai tai

i'm sitting
in a strip mall
chinese restaurant
sipping on a mai
tai with a pink
umbrella and
smattering of
cut fruit biting
the rim of the
short glass. i'm
waiting for my
order of fried
rice, egg rolls,
and crispy beef.
i only had a hot
dog for lunch today
from the seven eleven,
so i'm woozy from
the rum. i feel
like a sailor in
port, on liberty.
looking for some
quick and easy
fun. i've got
my cell phone out
and i'm almost ready
to dial some trouble
up. but thankfully
my order is ready,
they're swinging
that white plastic
bag in front of me,
and i've made it
through another day
another night without
doing anything
too stupid.

blowing bubbles

she loved to chew
gum all day and all
night. snapping it,
clicking and chewing
like a cow out
to pasture, she'd take
it out when she ate
though, giving
her jaw a break
and stick
it onto the side
of her dinner
plate, or a cup,
saving it for later.
even when we kissed
she tucked it into
her cheek, a wad
of topps, the hard
square kind with
the comic and
fortune inside
and when we made
love she'd blow a
big fat bubble, pink
and round and at the
approriate moment,
well at least for her,
she'd pop it loudly
in my ear and say
something like wowza!

winnebago

i'm saving up
for a winnebago
my friend tells me.
i'm retiring in five
years, i'm going to
travel the country,
see things, live
on the road, eat
at diners, smell
the forests and touch
the wheat fields
with my eyes, hear
the roar of the colorado
river, touch the sky
over montana, i'm
gonna ride the rails,
surf the pacific ocean,
i'm gonna live and
breathe and be free.
i'm gonna read and write,
and visit rome, see
the ancient ruins. i'm
gonna fall in love,
maybe find me a french
girl. i'm gonna find
my inner child, paint
and make music, eat
and drink, crush grapes
with my feet. i'm
going to finally get
a good night's
sleep. and i ask him,
so what was stopping you
the other forty years.

why bother

she tells me
from her bedroom
window, elbows
on the sill, throwing
her hair back,
she says, why bother,
there's nothing
new, nothing.
no orignial thought
or sin, or unique
point of view,
it's all been
said and done,
and sung and written,
and painted on
a wall. what's
the point, why
go on, why give
it any thought. i
don't know, i tell
her. i just
do. i can't help
myself, i keep
going, but i know
one thing, i could
never live the way
you do.

the time of your life

from my second floor
balcony at the brinkley
house garden apartments
you could see the dome
of fog and bright lights
over the dark horizon,
and you could hear
the races being
called at the harness
track that was through
the woods, and over
a great expanse of
parking lots. rosecroft
raceway. the calls
of the races were
shrill, high pitched
and echoed with crazy
urgency by the time
they reached me,
sitting on my balcony
with crystal, whose real
name was christine,
but she changed it
when she became a
professional dancer.
and she used to ask
me all the time to
go to the track with
her, to bet on the
ponies, but i said
no, you go honey,
take your stack of
ones and have fun, and
she said but it's more
fun with you there. i
like doing things with
you, and she'd smile
and wiggle her assets
a little, and i thought
about it as we sipped our
mateuse wine in plastic
tumblers, swatting
mosquitoes from the
nearby creek. nah, i
told her. i can only
bet on one bad horse
at a time, but you go,
have fun. have the time
of your life.

making love

she lies
here, in the
warm shadow
of summer. her
brown skin
glistening
from sweat, her
heart still
racing, and
she smiles,
with her arm
across you.
as the ceiling
fan goes slow,
and it's as if
we are drifting
on a raft beneath
a canopy of trees,
along the shores
of a strange land,
somewhere you've
never been before,
and in a place,
you never want
to leave.

summer job

having never
pushed a wheel
barrow full of
anything, you
thought, how hard
could this be.
and the man,
the old man, black
as an iron rail,
and as strong,
said to me, go
ahead son, put
some bricks in
there and push
it across the yard.
i made it three
feet before it
toppled and
crashed, but
he hired me anyway.
and for the next
nine hours i hauled
brick and cinder
blocks and pushed
wheel barrows full
of grey wet cement
for the masons.
and the next day
i quit. i've never
been as sore before
or since then. every
muscle and bone
in my body ached
for days, but i
had my check for
thirty six dollars
and ninety seven
cents after taxes.

washington dc women

i once saw
her with money
in her hand.
i was shocked.
despite the fact
that she works
more hours than
the president
of the united states
and is busier
than congress
in session,
this was a strange
thing. it was an
accident though.
it fell out
of her purse
which i had
never seen open
before. a bat
with sharp black
wings flew
out of it when she
did and i could
see the cobwebs
break and a cloud
of dust like one
sees on the discovery
channel when they
open up a pharaoh's
tomb. i only
have a five, she
said, do you mind
getting the check
for this dinner,
i'll get the next one,
i promise. cross my
heart, really,
i will. i know
you always pay,
and that we are just
friends, with
benefits, but i
feel guilty about
you paying all
the time. seriously,
the next one's on
me. oh, and do
you have some change
for the meter, i
am completely out
of quarters.

forever young

you decide one
day to never grow
old. you vow to
exercise, eat right,
drink in moderation,
you wear shorts
in the winter and
a ball cap like
a twenty year old.
flip flops, no socks.
you take vitamins,
you send away to
india to get the latest
generic drugs to
keep things in
working order, you
wear sunscreen,
get plenty of rest,
drink lots of water.
you keep up on the
latest music and
gizzmos that keep
you in touch with
your 'peeps'. you
try to keep up with
the hipster language
of the day. and yes
you realize what
a fool you appear
to be, but so what.
you've got a spring
in your step, you
call women babes,
your male friends,
brother, yo.
and say things like
that's what i'm
talking about, or
it is what it is,
or not so much. you
stay current, you've
got your gold
starbuck's card,
and an ipod wire
dangling across your
fifty push ups a day
chest. you're
not over the hill
but on top of the
hill and no one
needs to know that
you're listening
to frank sinatra
sing the summer wind
in your plugged
in ear.

exit

i see you
in your black
dress, your black
shoes, and pearl
necklace, going
off into the fog.
a slow exit
towards your life,
leaving where
mine begins and
yours has always
been. no dancing,
no song, no words
needed to be said.
no one is right,
no one is wrong.
it's just life. it's
just life. now go.

the close shave

i soap over
my skin, my face
is lathered
below my nose,
around my cheeks,
onto my chin.
and i can see
my eyes in this
mirror, this
reflection of
another day gone,
and one
beginning. i take
the razor and
with slow
deliberate strokes
smooth out and
shave what has
grown when
night was here.

dead trees

the peach tree
is empty.
barren. the fruit
is on the ground,
at the mercy of
the earth, of
insects, animals
that wait
their turn. my
desire is gone
for this fruit,
this once sweet
peach that i needed,
and wanted. this
stark grey tree
won't show fruit
again. not with
me, not in my
yard. i tear
it down, pull it
out by it's roots.
enough with peaches,
with false, and
forbidden fruit.

breakfast lunch and dinner

she could eat.
that girl could eat.
three squares a day
and a snack or two
with coffee inbetween.
i used to sit there
and watch her go at
it. she'd pop a meatball
into her mouth like
a circus animal.
the plate was
sparkling when she
was finished, taking
a folded slice
of bread to wipe off
that last puddle of
red sauce. she'd
give a little burp,
swig down some red
wine, rub her belly
and sigh, oh my,
she'd say, that was
great. then her fork
would reach over
into my plate, just
a taste, she'd say.
i'm trying to lose
weight. i'm on a
mission this year to
drop twenty. i slide
the plate in front of
her. it's all yours
baby, it's all yours.
but she was fun too.

the mailman blues

i saw the mailman
the other day. he was
slouched over with
his heavy bag, the
leather strap cutting
into his pale blue
shirt and shoulder.
he was sweating,
and out of breath,
leaning against a
hydrant before moving
on to the next row
of houses to deliver
mail. i'm done, he
said to me as i
approached him.
i can't do this
anymore. it's
not the junk mail
and the ads, or
circulars, it's my
wife, i think she's
cheating on me with
another mailman who
does my route. the
other day she had
a postage stamp stuck
to her thigh, and
there was an imprint
of an overseas
stamp inked onto her
lower back. she's
distant and distracted.
she's no longer doing
her bills online.
i don't get it. i
love her, i really do.
i shake my head and
hand him my letter
to my ex wife with
her alimony check inside.
hang in there, i tell
him. the load will
get lighter with time.
so what it's in the bag
for me today, jimmy?

dessert

you come
over with
your slinky
sexy self
carrying a
sweet dessert
in a nice
box with a bow,
and being
one. and i'm
at a loss
because i
don't know
which
one i want
a slice
of first.
perhaps one
before, and
one after.

new year purge

you start the new
year off with purging.
first the refrigerator,
condiments and things
wrapped and forgotten.
then the closets,
sweaters that have
lost their shape, pants
that sag and hang on
you. then the cupboard
full of chipped
dishes and glasses.
that bent fork in the
drawer, dull knives.
the magazines that lie
flat and curled over
the edges of your
nightstand, unread, just
glanced at with a polite
nod at the cartoons,
and then skimmed.
then you open
your phone and begin
to delete there. one
after another. lost
connections, old loves,
near loves, some likes
and lusts tossed in
there too, forgotten
friends, that neither
return your calls or
press one letter of
hello, how are you,
what's up, and hit send.

early to rise

it's raining.
but it's warm,
and there is no
snow on the ground.
you can see straight
through the woods
because there are
no leaves, the
branches are bare
and grey. the stream
appearss to be
silk as it moves
with hardly a
ripple. no one
is up yet, except
for those sleepless
ones who are up
at five, or six,
and walk their dogs.
they've got a head
start on worry.
you watch them
meander through
the woods, stepping
through puddles,
thinking. thinking.
speaking mindlessly
to their dogs, as
the leash gets tugged
this way and that.

sleeping well

there came a
time when you stopped
reading newspapers,
watching the television,
ignored the news.
and others, your friends
and neighbors in
conversation would ask
you questions about
the war, and you'd say
what war, or ask you
about the economy and
the jobs disappearing
and you'd shrug and say,
i'm sorry, but i know
nothing about that.
or when the votes were
counted and so and so
won, or lost, so what.
and when a storm was
coming in, you had no
clue, no idea what was
going to happen.
the elephant escaping
from the zoo, or the
trains going on strike,
had no effect on your
life. and none of it,
as you always
suspected made a damn
bit of difference, you
were sleeping well,
and leaving the worry
to others, who also
could do nothing to
change things.

the new tenant

a new tenant moves
in next to you.
she is beautiful.
her hair is long
and brown, it shines
in the elevator light.
she is angelic
as she carries up
her yoga mat, and
exercise ball, a
box of kitchen
utensils, and other
assorted girl stuff.
she is alone. she
doesn't even have
a cat, or a child,
or a plant to get in
between you, if it
ever came down to
that. you think
about what you can
say to her, what
clever words you
might have saved up
from years of
experience
of bothering
attractive women.
you can tell her
that you write poetry,
or pull up your sleeves
and open a jar of
olives to show her
your strength, or
perhaps you can sing
loudly in the shower
that is next to her
apartment and impress
her with your vocal
abilities. but
of course, you do none
of this. your wife
would not approve.
she would know that
you were up to
something again, and
would put a stop to it.
she is always
getting in the way
of your fun. you blame
everything on her
that has gone wrong
in your life.

the splinter

your mood is dampened
by the splinter
you have encountered
in your foot, walking
across the floor of
her apartment. it
bleeds at first and
then stops, but you
can feel the jagged
edge of it buried deep
within your flesh,
but you have no time
to fool with it, to
get it out, you have
the day in front of
you. it's easier to
go on, and deal with
it later. but by night
fall, it's red and
festering and sore,
and walking is
difficult. you feel
that you have learned
something here.
but you can't quite
put it into words
or understand. you
think about what she
said, before you left.
putting her own
splinter within you.
and ignoring that too.

the allergy

i'm
allergic
to your
sweater.
do you
mind
taking
it off,
thanks.
that's
so much
better.
i can
breathe
now.

wilbur the blind cat

your blind cat
moves slow and
easy across the
room as the boxes
are filled, and
set ready for
the movers, all
packed. he rubs
his black shoulders
onto the edges,
the hard corners
and speaks, and
purrs, and wants
to know who has
fallen in or out
of love, what
makes this all
happen, this move,
this journey to
another place, to
another set of rooms.
when will the last
place happen, what
end is there with
these human
hearts, so fragile,
so indifferent
to the needs of a
blind and loving cat.

don't worry about me

don't worry,
don't fret, or
lose sleep, or
wring your hands
over me. this too
shall pass, this
love or lust, or
whatever you make
of us. just dust,
just pebbles
rolling in the wind,
here and gone,
stretch out your
arms, and say
good bye, say
hello to someone
new, the next new
heart to come
straggling along.
but don't concern
yourself with me,
i'm fine with or
without you, i
always am. it's what
i do. i was born
into this and will
see it through,
until the end.

nothing changes

it doesn't feel
like a new year,
i tell her, from
the shower, i've
got a new bar of
soap and i'm sudsy
and warm, scrubbing
off last night's
new years eve
debris. what? she
says, she's standing
at the sink brushing
her teeth. what
do you think the
new year should feel
like, she gargles
and spits, and
pulls her hair
back to look at
her face and pluck
at any eyebrow.
i don't know,
i tell her,
pulling the shower
curtain open. i just
thought it would be
different, that's
all. whatever, she
says, hurry, i'm
starving. i need
food, or i'm going
to be cranky. nothing
changes, i tell
her, rinsing in
the hot steamy flow
of this year's water.
nothing changes.

the real thing

you are not surprised
at what you find
when you open the
book and begin to read.
when you begin to unravel
the pages of her.
you know this story,
this tale, this plot.
you've lived it many
times. so you read
a few chapters and
then toss it across
the room into the pile
where the other books
have landed that you don't
believe. you have no
more room in your head
or heart for fiction,
for pretend romance, for
false notes and a thin
pale tale of love,
you want the real thing.
you need something
you can bite into and
have the juices
run down your chin.

get out of town

my passport
needs more stamps.
needs to be bended
and pulled open
by strangers with
badges and guns
in foreign lands.
i need to be
searched and stared
at, have my eyes
looked into for
deception. i need
to have my pupils
dialated, be
a suspect. i need
to board a plane,
get on a ship,
ride all through
the night on a long
black train. i need
to get out of town.
you can come if you
want to, but be
prepared, you might
go home alone.

she's waiting

she's waiting
for me, i have
to go, she's
wearing a white
dress and has
nothing in her
hand.
can you give
me a boost up,
just grab
my foot and push,
put me up onto
the horse, okay,
now which
direction is home.
i'll ride all
day and night
if i have to.
it was fun, but
i've got to go.
i have to ride out.
she's waiting
for me there. she's
past that mountain
ridge, that
river, that
long flat plain
of nothing. i can
almost see her
waving in the
sunlight. she's
waiting for
me there, she's
always been there.
she's waiting.

bacon, baby?

and what would
you like for
breakfast dear,
she says while
standing in the
kitchen still in
last night's high
heels. over easy,
or scrambled,
she whispers in
her deep sultry
voice. don't do
that i tell her,
don't talk like
that. she's wearing
an apron and
nothing else, and
holding a silver
spatula in her
egg flipping hand.
she still has lipstick
on and is swaying
to the music of
the top one hundred
countdown on the
radio beneath
the cupboard, honey,
it's too early in
the morning for
stairway to heaven,
can you turn that
off. sure she says,
and kills the music.
bacon, baby?

january

untie that balloon
from you wrist,
let it fly upwards
towards the new
sun, the first day
of this new year.
this year of promise
and getting things
done that you have
neglected for so
long. no need to make
a list of what to
do, you know what
to do, and now it's
just a matter of
staying focused,
letting go of what
is holding you down,
and be true to
yourself and others.
let all of those
balloons go and fade
into that golden light
of january. it's time.

cowboy boots on new year's eve

don't talk to me,
don't even look
at me or turn
that light on.
what is that
grinding noise,
oh, it's my
teeth. why did
we have to open
that last bottle
of pinot, and
why am i wearing
cowboy boots.
it's only 7 a.m.,
who are you?
i'll untie you
in a minute, as
soon as i get
these boots off.

new year's resolutions

find joy and
prosperity,
inner peace,
and contentment.
self knowledge
and direction.
live with
compassion
and forgiveness.
be thankful
and give.
have an open
heart, an open
hand, an
open mind
towards others.
be kind and
show
forgiveness.
love, and
pray without
ceasing.

you look marvelous

i saw you bent
over a garbage
can in your cute
black dress the
other night, new
year's eve. you
were sick with
drinking too much,
and stuffing too
many shrimp and
rubbery wads of
calamari into
your laughing
mouth. chewing
might be a good
idea next time.
but you had on very
nice heels, quite
sexy and a pearl
necklace that
dangled seductively
down the front.
i see you even had
your hair done.
very nice. you
looked great, except
for the wretching
and groaning part
over the mouth of
that giant trashcan
in the alley.
and being pale
and sort of green.
happy new year.

ecology 101

recycle this
you tell her
in a not so
pleasant way,
as she holds
the empty blue bin
out and reprimands
you for not
separating the
tin from the plastic
the paper from
the garbage, etc.
etc.. i remember
my father pouring
motor oil down
the sewer drain,
i tell her,
i'd never do that.
i never litter
either, i don't
even open a gum
wrapper without
disposing of it
properly, not once
have i thrown out
the car window an
empty box of junior
mints, so don't
get all self
righteous on me
with your ecology
religion and your
recycling crusade.
i was at the first
freaking earth day,
for god's sake.
geez marie. she
starts to laugh
and puts the blue
bin down and throws
in an empty grey
goose bottle. what
is wrong with you
anyway, she says.

they hate you

you have no
money. your pockets
are empty, so
you make a sign
and go out to
the road, where
the others are.
they begrudgingly
give you room,
they disdain you
though, in your
brown loafers
and black over
coat. your white
silk scarf blows
dramatically in
the breeze from
cars rushing by.
you are wearing
a nice watch too
and carrying a
cup of coffee
from starbucks.
a grande extra
hot no foam
soy latte. you are
not one of them,
but you have a
sign, you have a
family at home,
or so you lie and
tell them. you
leave out the part
about your skills,
your education,
your ability to
sing and dance.
but they see
through you just
the same. they know
that you are a
fool, unlike them.
so unlike them.
they shake their
heads as you pass,
taking turns for
the first car at
each red light.
they hate you
and yet they wish
that they had
coffee too.

the worried wife

this cat, this
cat again.
married too
long, settled
not in his
ways, but
into the yarn,
batting at
the bird cage,
who is no
friend. he is
restless, and
full of wonder.
in full hot
purr to get
out, to get in,
to play roulette
with what's out
there. you
remind me so
much of him.

vulture

her teeth are
in me, my blood
runs from her painted
lips. i am limp
and white, she
circles me like a
vulture from high
above, swooping
down with black
wings, with sharp
talons. her teeth
are in me. i have
no fight left to
give. my wounds are
beyond healing. my
faith is fading
in what is wrong
and what is right.

go slow

unwind this clock
slow it down to a
tick, to small almost
whispering tocks.
turn the hourglass
back over, let the
sand start again
to fall, don't grow
old, don't fade,
don't disappear
into memory, that
isn't much to ask,
to let time and
yesterday, go by
with a slow,
slow crawl.

grocery list

you have no
food in the house,
but you keep
returning to
the icebox to
check anyway.
it's cold breath
exhales on you
with a sigh
of no. still
nothing.
so you make a
list of things
you want, and
need, before you
go. you put
love at the top
of the list.
in fact it heads
the list in bold
black letters,
it's the title
of your list. love.
and then milk
and bread,
eggs and oranges.
potato chips. you
put down shampoo,
but quickly cross
that off, then
write oatmeal,
those little dark
chocolate espresso
beans, lettuce.
and a few other
things, that
don't beat, or
bleed.

the pink bottle

i know what
i like, and
it's not indian
food, mongolian,
or thai,
okay, i'll give
thai a try if
it's spicy and
fried, but no
ethiopian, or
indonesian, or
croation grub
for me. nah.
it's not that
i'm not adventurous
in a culinary
sense, it's just
that i know what
i like, and when
i'm hungry and
starving, i don't
want to take a
pepto bismol
chance.

don't compromise

she says,
with her legs
crossed and
a pleasant smile
radiating with
sunsine on
her face, she
sees good
at the end
of every road,
she says. steve.
trust me on this
you need to
upgrade. it's
time. choose
more wisely.
be gentle, be
compassionate,
be kind, but
guard your heart
until you are
sure and ready
and repeat after
me, don't
compromise.
don't compromise.
don't compromise.

party girl

with your pointed
party hat on,
askew, and your
smile littered
with booze, so
soon, so long before
the clock ticks
twelve, checking
your phone, your
your shoes, your
new blouse torn
seeing who
in the mirror,
almost you, almost
blue. holding
the whistle horn
in your hand, with
friends around,
moving side to
side as if on
a wobbly ship,
waiting, waiting
for ball to drop,
for the band to
play, for someone,
anyone, to kiss you
and tell you that
next year will
be just fine, that
everything will
be okay.

trust me

make a left
at the light.
ignore the one
way sign. the no
turn arrow, just
run the red,
if you have
to. the green
takes so long.
trust me. avoid
the cars honking
at you, coming
towards you
with their
headlights on,
flashing their
highbeams.
you are fine.
trust me.
keep driving.
slowly though.
make a right
into the alley.
yes. the dark
alley, where
it's tight and
narrow, where
there are strangers
lurking in
the shadows, once
again trust me.
i know what
i'm saying sounds
crazy. but
you'll be
fine, you'll be
just fine. i'd
never steer you
wrong. now
park, and get
out and come up
the fire escape.
don't use the front
door, no one comes
in that way
anymore. trust
me. this is just
the beginning.
you won't be
disappointed.
trust me.

lie still for a moment

it's a surgical
cut at this point.
clean and deep,
and exact. it's
benign, relax.
it's removed.
no one dies
after all. let
me hold it up
to the astringent
neon light. see.
all better now.
now go home and
pull up a chair
to the moon, to
the stars, drink
your fill, and
start again
tomorrow on
that next chapter.

white balloon

this moon,
this bright
sliver
of stone,
like a cold
white heart
removed,
chipped and
bruised,
rises and
falls and
sits like
a child,
blank faced,
and holding
a fragile,
tethered
balloon
on the cold
front stoop.

Vitamin V

you are getting
older. yes.
all parts of
you are getting
older, but i
digress. if
in fact you
choose to try
and enhance your
love making skills
by taking a
little blue pill,
and four hours
pass without
it subsiding,
i thought why
panic or bother
with calling
in a doctor,
why not just
call in the
rockettes.

time

the train is
moving fast. you
put your hand out
the window and feel
the wind of time.
you feel the sun
against your face,
you are still
young, but this too
will change. the
train is moving fast.
your son is beyond
your reach, he is
a man now, and has
his own life to tend
to. he loves you,
but things have
changed. things have
changed for the
good with so many
others too. the
train is moving fast.
you see your parents
lie down where they
will be when it's
time. they acknowledge
you without words
in the shadow
of the gleaming track.
you see those that you
love out the window.
they are on the
platform, with their
hands in their coats,
they are smiling,
they are happy to
have known you and you
wave, and wave until
your arms are heavy.
you want to yell out
to everyone that things
will be fine, don't
worry. but the
train is moving fast.

dark heart

from the dark
heart of somewhere,
maybe in a dream,
the gales have taken
down trees in
a violent stretch
of night, while
the rain fell, and
you reached across
the bed for someone
who wasn't there.
and dogs howled
in the distance.
and an ambulance
gave chase down a
blackened street.
and the sun tried
to pull away the clouds,
the bruised blue
land of sky that
refused to yield,
what has come is not
over, more trees need
to rise from their
entrenched selves,
to thunder down, to
be uprooted from
deep within their
longing to live,
and fall, and fall
and be done,
and lie across
the ragged sleeve
of stream, until more
time and the push
of high water
takes even that away.

the letter

the black clawed
scrawl of your
letter, in old
ink, smeared wet,
under tears, perhaps,
or a drink spilled.
and i smell the
ashes of your
cigarette caught
up in the folds
before you sent
it out with the
morning mail. and
how you wait
and wait for a
reply while i stand
in the window,
in sunlight, pleased
to be done
with you, and to
be holding this
letter as further
proof of our love's
demise. write more
often. i need to
know the pain
that you are under.

in the rain

two a.m.
is not a time
to be walking
around town
in the rain,
in these worn
shoes, and
battered hat.
there are alot
of dark and
dangerous
shadows moving
about. my overcoat
is soaked down
to my skin.
my watch has
stopped at
midnight, and
the trains
aren't running.
i can walk
a ways. find
a diner open
all night. i
can make small
talk with the
waitress in her
pink dress, as
skinny and lonely
as the lamp post
that lights my
way. i can
read yesterday's
newspaper,
i can befriend
that dog in the
alley shivering
with his head
in a can,
gnawing on bone
that will choke
him dead before
dawn. or i can
just keep
walking, walking.
in the rain.

grand canyon

your family
calls you out of
the blue, they
ask you if you'd
like to go to
the grand canyon
with them this
summer. a family
outing. a reunion
of sorts. bonding,
that sort of thing.
you hesitate. you
shift your feet
while standing
in the kitchen
with the refrigerator
door wide open. it's
deep and wide, you
can almost hear
your voice echo
when you say, oh my.
you feel the cold
wrap around your
bare legs. you
see a ketchup bottle,
and mustard.
pizza poorly wrapped
in foil. vodka.
a thin bottle
of green olives
afloat on the side
door. there's
an orange
with a blue green
bruise on it's
now flat side.
you tell your sister
no, perhaps next year.

your hands

your hands
have provided
for you. you admire
their selflessness.
they have not failed
you in anyway
throughout your
life. you take
them for granted
that they will
always be there.
always ready to
help you throughout
the day, or night.
you are amazed at
how they heal
after being abused
by you, by being
cut or blistered,
or sore from
the lifting and
work that makes
your day. they
withstand the heat
and frigid air that
you expose them to.
your hands ask
for nothing in
return. you wish
that you could be
more like they are.

the gold necklace

you tell her
that you'll never
leave her. you say
this while folding
your shirts and
placing them into
a suitcase that
lies on the bed.
you tell her that
you'll never betray
her, that your
loyalty is without
measure. you slip
a gold necklace
deep within
the pocket of
your folded pants
before you close
the suitcase. you
tell her that you
love her and that
your love is the
love of poets, of
kings, of men who
go to war, holding
the hope of coming
home alive and
unwounded. these
words are dry as bones,
as the ashes of bones
in your mouth, you
can taste how bitter
they are. and you
wonder how did you
create such a world
as this, but you can't
stop your self. you
tell her that she looks
beautiful and kiss
her on the lips
before you go out
to a waiting cab.
you tell her
that you'll call
the moment you
get there, you tell
her that she is
the only one.

I'm so so sorry

before we begin
this relationship,
let me apologize
in advance for
all the stupid things
i'm about to do, or
say, or will forget
to do, or won't have
the knowledge or skills
to do in order
to make you happy.
i'm just going to
write it down on a
sheet of paper.
i'm sorry, followed
by fill in the blanks,
and when i don't live
up to your high or
even low standards,
just fill in the
appropriate grievance,
and i'll initial it
and date it. and there
you go. you'll have
my apoogies right
there in front of you.
i think this will
keep the peace and
keep us together
for at least a few
weeks or so. maybe
even a month, how
sweet would that be.

i'll call, really, i promise

i've got your
number. it's right
here on a napkin.
i was eating
chow mein when i
took it down, so
there's one number
that's a little
greasy and smeared
with fried rice.
those egg rolls
were dripping with
oil. it could
be a three, or it
could be an eight.
in fact there are
a couple of fuzzy
numbers.hmmm.
i'll try both, but
later, i promise,
when i get some
time. i've
got these socks
that need ironing,
and the dog needs
a bath, and someone's
at the door. but
i'll call, i promise,
i'm really really
interested. don't
let this slight
delay fool you. i'm
on top of things.
i think we'd make
a sharp couple.
you and me. this
could really work.
talk later. okay?

lemonade

there are no
mistakes,
or miscues,
or wrong turns.
nothing you
have done has
not had reason.
not one person
you have met has
not had a good
consequence
upon your life.
you'll never
take the wrong
road, or marry
the wrong
person, or
take the wrong
job, despite
how bad things
may seem. all
is towards good,
if you surrender,
trust and believe.

the third and final marriage

my third and final
marriage will be the one
to watch. the one to
set the standard of being
in love happily ever
after. you'll see.
i haven't gone out on
four thousand and sixty
seven dates for nothing.
i've learned alot
in these last ten years,
such as, never ever
date married women,
or pregnant women, or
women with their wedding
pictures still up on
the wall. or no job.
watch out for 'the lady
in red', or the one
who wants to come to
your house carrying a
six pack of bud in
a rose embroidered dress,
be careful with the tattooed
ones, or the ones with
piercings who look like
their faces fell into
a tackle box of hooks,
lines and sinkers,
be leary of those with
no money, no time, no
energy or who have never
read a book, and a rash
that comes and goes,
or women with the jimmy
leg, or women with one
arm shorter than the
other. don't go out
with blind women in
ohio, or women with
a bad case of psoriasis,
or women whose husbands
are sleeping on the couch
in the basement. don't
date women with money
problems, or who need
constant mental health
care, or women with more
than two cats, or two
dogs. stay away from
the women who are sex
phone operators with
seven kids from three
different husbands,
or who have a blackberry
glued to their hand and
have to pee every ten
minutes, or the ones
who who wear baby blue
jump suits with zipppers
down the back. don't date
women who are prison
guards and carry a gun
in their purse. or women
without a car, or who
can't or won't drive at
night, or women who
knit things to hang
on the wall. steer
clear of the women
with names like brandy,
or bambi, or candy,
or mandy who say they
love you on the very first
date. or who send
you pictures of themselves
jumping naked on a bed.
i'm just saying.
be careful out there.
it's a jungle. it's a
madhouse, but when my
ship comes in, i'm done.
i'll live forever in
marital bliss. can i
get an Amen on that?

how are you?

you tell everyone
that everything
is fine. that your life
is in order. these
are the words you
need to say, to
go on with your day,
with your life. to
keep the conversation
pleasant and short.
no one wants to know
about illness, or death,
or a child in trouble,
or a broken pipe, or the
lack of money to make
ends meet this month,
or a looming divorce.
it's easier to just
say, that everything
is fine, and smile
and say merry
christmas and give a
kiss to the cheek,
then go on.
everything is fine.
just fine. and how
are you?

it's my party

you plan a party and
invite all of your
friends. three of
them can't make it,
but the fourth says
she'll try. but
she's the only
one that counts.
and you sweeten
the deal by telling
her that you love
her, but that only
makes her cringe,
and pull the phone
away from her ear.
she doesn't feel that
way about you, but
you don't care.
you want her to come,
there is awkward
silence on the other
end, so you lie to her.
you tell her that
she means nothing to
you, there has never
been any feelings
towards her, but
it's too late. she
has already changed
the maybe to a no in
her mind. you decide
that you need to find
more friends, better
friends and ones that
like you in return and
have more time. you
write this on a sheet
of paper of things
to do in the new year,
and tape it to the
refrigerator. but you
have the party anyway.
you have your dog,
you have chips,
and dip, you have wine
and shrimp neatly
arranged in a circle
in a large white bowl,
you put on a hat,
turn the lights down
and the music up,
you dance and dance,
while your dog watches
from the couch with
his hat on, chewing on
a plastic cup.

next on my list

let's take
down the tree
now, she says.
let's strip it
bare, remove
the bulbs, unravel
those lights
and pack it all
away. let's get
the tinsel up,
and the needles
vacuumed
that litter
the rug. let's be
done with it, okay?
and i stare at
her from across the
room in my new
bedroom slippers
and black socks,
holding my new
book on ten places
you'll never get
to before you die,
and say why, but
why now. it's only
the day after
christmas. and she
says, with her
hands on her hips,
when it's over
it's over.
and after the first
of the year, your
next on my list.

cat in the window

the cat
in the window,
curled warm
like a fire,
unstirred
by the white
snow that falls
like prayers
outside,
sleeps and
sleeps within
it's cat like
dream. she
is content,
like me,
with being in
a world where
nothing is
ever close to
what it seems.

the business section

a woman in
the coffee shop
approaches and asks
if she can read
my newspaper. she
is weeping to herself
or maybe it's the
cold air within her
eyes, she is alone,
and old, and is wearing
many layers of worn
clothes. her hands
are calloused
and dirty. i ask her
which section would
she like, and she
says, the business
section please, and
i'll give it back,
don't worry. i'll
return it before
you leave. but she
doesn't.

in good time

when the lights
go out, i am fine.
i can live
in the dark, i've
done so for many
years. i have
a candle or two handy
for such occasions.
and when the water
stops flowing i
am okay with that
too. i put a bucket
out the window when
it rains and it's
more than enough.
and when the heat
dies, i throw another
log onto the fire,
i place another
blanket on the bed,
i wear gloves and
socks and layer upon
layers of clothes
to keep me warm.
but when you
disappeared
without a note,
and the room went
silent, i had no
answer for that.
my survival skills
did not include
such a thing as
living my life
alone. but that
too shall be
taken care of in
good time.
i'm working on it,
as i always do.

pendulum

the pendulum of
you is such that
i've rarely seen
it stop and sit
still in the middle,
it's swing is
violent between
the ups and downs.
between the dark
and light of your
mind and mood.
you have no center,
no place to call
your own, no home,
or point of view
in which to stop
and breathe and
just be you. who
are you today,
dear girl.

the dance hall

there is no music
coming from the hall.
although there once
was. and people would
dance, and fall in
love. but that was
a long time ago.
now the doors are
closed, the windows
boarded up, the people
who once came are old,
or gone. but in the
wood there are names,
etched with pen knives
on the rail,
of molly and sam,
of joan and joe, of
others who danced
the night away, and
the dates are inscribed
too. lightly in the
stained wood, so many
dancers that have come
and gone. and then
there's me and you.

turkey reprieve

i bought a live
turkey for christmas
and kept him in
the yard, feeding
him for weeks,
corn meal, and
other assorted grains
suggested by the local
turkey rancher, jimmy,
i think his name was.
but i fell in love
with the turkey.
the cooing and gobbling
became music to my
ears and i couldn't
kill him. i couldn't
bring the axe down
upon his long stringy
neck. it just wouldn't
be right. so i had
pizza instead and he
joined me at the table.

closed for the holidays

you turn
the sign over.
closed for
the holidays.
it's stapled
to your chest,
over where your
heart used to be.
and people stare,
but they don't
ask. they see
a look in your
eye that you
are not to be
fooled with.
they press their
faces to the
window, wanting
a part of you, but
you are truly
closed. you have
had enough of
love, the commerce
of affection.
no sales will
be transacted
during this
period of time
and you wave them
away with your
hand. you fold
your arms
and point to
the sign on
your chest and
shake your head,
no. i'm sorry,
you whisper
through the window,
but we're closed.

working like a dog

you tell others
that you have to
work on christmas
day. that you have
no choice, your job
and schedule demands
it. your employers
have no feelings
for you and your
plight. they will
give you money in
place of the time
that you forefit
in order to survive
in this world. you
know no other way.
you tell others
that you are working
like a dog, but
then change that.
your dog was an
emperor who never
lifted a paw in
order to please
or help you with
your day. your dog
owned you in ways
that embarass you
when pressed for
details about his
his life, his
command over yours.
you envy your dog,
the way he could
sleep through every
problem, his lack
of interest in the
world, the news,
whether good or bad,
he never lost weight
or a minute of
sleep over a dog
he fell in love with.
little ever fazed
him, or kept him
from eating. his love
for you was measured
by the food you
provided, by the lifting
of him onto the bed.
of you scratching
his belly until
he fell asleep. i
have never worked
like a dog, at least
not like the one
i had.

the wallet

you find a wallet,
it's full of money.
soft bills, large
in denominations.
there are credit
cards and papers
with phone numbers
on them. there is
a license. a man's
face, about your
age. there are photos
of his family. of
his children. his
wife. they look
happy. they look
like what you had
once, a long time
ago. you say the man's
name to yourself.
you could be him,
you think, perhaps
a mistake has been
made. perhaps it's
your wallet. you
put the wallet into
your coat pocket.
and you go to his
house to begin
your new life. you
are confident that
they will accept
you. you are full
of optimism that
his wife will greet
you at the door,
and kiss you, and
feed you, and make
love to you that
night. the children
will welcome you
home. even the dog
will jump into your
lap. your optimism
is amazing, but you
know that you are
mistaken and that
this will not turn
out good, but you
go anyway, you feel
you have no choice.

you awaken

in a bed that
is not your own.
the light is
different. you
were married
once, but she is
not with you,
there is someone
else beside you
now, sleeping. her
back is turned.
the color of
her shoulders
is golden, like
apples. she
smells like lilacs.
she is not
the one, but you
are here, with
her. you watch
as the new sun
rises and
empties the room
of shadow. you
have nothing new
to say. no words
can describe how
lost you are. but
you will say
something when
she awakens,
something that will
allow you to
come back again,
and again.

my new pony

thank you santa
for the new pony
that you left for me
this christmas
morning.
i don't know how
you got him into
the house last night,
but it woke me up
with his naying and
walking around in
those metal horseshoes.
he already had his
head inside the
cupboard eating sugar
cubes and oatmeal.
i hope those scuff
marks come out of
the floor, and those
stains from the rug.
it would have been
nice if you had tied
him up though. the
house is a mess. but
i'm grateful, really,
he's wonderful. i
think i'll call him
seabiscuit or rudolph,
it's a toss up right
now. thankfully i have
a snow shovel and a
bag of carrots.
he's already had a
couple of 'accidents'.
i've always wanted
a pony i could call
my own for as long as
i can remember, but
i didn't expect him
this year, after all
those years of asking
and being really good.
maybe i'll ride him
to work on monday
after i get some
chaps, a hat and boots.
this is the best
christmas ever, well
sort of. my list
has changed over the
years if you hadn't
noticed and at the top
of the new list
were the the two twins
from sweden, the runway
models, gretchen
and nicole, but hey,
maybe next year we
can do better, right?
thanks again santa.

communion

she texts me from
mass, as she stands in
line for communion
her hands folded
in front of her,
typing with her
thumbs, her tongue
is about to go out to
get the blood and body
of Christ. it's
Christmas eve and
she's lonely, and
across the country,
and sad and trying
to make sense of it
all, trying so hard
to find peace.
find peace. find peace.
when all along it
rests within her.

i'll meet you there

you're not wearing
that out, are you.
she says to me as
i put on my favorite
long black coat
and ripped jeans.
you look like a
homeless man, she
says. go ahead, look
in the mirror. and
why didn't you shave,
you can't go to a
party looking like
that. look at me,
i'm in a dress, a
red dress, she spins
around to make
a point, we can't
go as a couple with
this disparity in
style. hmm, i say.
okay, maybe we
should drive
separately, you go
on ahead i'll meet
you there.

the science of you

the science of you
evades me. the math
of how you think.
pascal would be proud.
the equations that
make up who you are,
baffle me and keep
me wide awake beneath
galileo's stars.
no theorem can explain
what makes you come
and go, or stay, or
what keeps that center
of you so goddamn
cold. you are an
eternal mystery that
i'll never solve
no matter how many
books i read, or
martinis that i shake
and drink. you are a
star collapsing upon
itself, and i'm pulled
and pulled within.

the empty seat

can i have this
seat, if it's not
taken, if you
don't mind. i'd
like to sit next
to you. it's the
only i seat where
i can sit, where
i can finally take
off my coat and stop
circling the room.
it's time
to stop. and you
are kind to offer
me this place
beside you. i know
that it's only
for a short while,
that you'll have
to leave, but i'm
so glad that we've
met, and sad to
see you go. i'll
try to save yours
while your gone,
but some promises
i can't keep.

your dark hair

your brush full
of hair, long and
brown, dark as
the woods before
the sun goes down.
it's a tangle of
you. and i can see
you in the mirror,
standing there,
stroke after stroke,
easily, calmly,
and knowing that
i'm there, you have
all the time in
the world to brush
your long dark hair.

milk

you lift
the carton
off the shelf
from the bright
cool light of
the refrigerator
and even before
you open the lid
to smell, you
know already that
it's gone bad,
that's it's sour,
that it's
shelf life has
expired. the
occasional smile
and touch
of that
bright light
didn't save
it, nor did the
cool dark air
in which it sat
for so long,
unstirred,
untouched and
perhaps
in some strange
way, unloved.

new year's eve

it was several
years ago, walking
through old town
on new year's eve,
going to dinner,
to where we had
gone before, many
times, and she was
wearing black, as
always, with her
flashing brown eyes,
and silver bracelets,
and she dropped an
earring on the street.
we both heard it
hit and roll away.
but we couldn't find
it in the dark,
although we tried,
in the cold, with
snow coming down,
but we were late.
so we went on. it
was our last new
year's eve together.
but when i walk by
that spot in any
season, years
later, on the
sidewalk where
we were that night.
i'm still looking
down, looking for
that earring, for
her, for what i've
lost and what i
haven't yet found.

the kissing lesson

it's easy
she says.
do like this.
put your
lips together,
that's right,
watch me.
pucker,
press them
tight, now
move closer,
move an inch
away from me.
closing your
eyes is optional,
but i'd suggest
closed for this
first time.
no, no, don't
open your mouth
we aren't
gold fish.
now come in
and press gently
your lips
onto mine. hold
it for a second,
okay, okay.
that was nice.
see, do you see
how this is
done. now, okay.
very good.
let's try
it again. and
later we'll
try something
a little more
complicated on
the couch.

to bed early

you are weary
from the day,
the week,
so you go to
bed early. you
turn everything
off, the phone
the lights,
the tv, the
computer blinking
down the hall.
you block all of
the clocks in
your room with
shirts and socks.
and you lie
there at nine
thirty and wish
there was someone
there to read
to you, to scratch
your back gently
and massage
the kinks out
of your muscles
as you drift
slowly into that
sweet nether
world of dreams.

my new family

i was out
drinking the
other night
and i lost
my credit card,
somewhere between
il fornaios
and a parking
garage. it was
very windy,
so it could
be anywhere.
today i got my
statement and
apparently i've
bought a new
car, and have
adopted a family
of five
from thailand
and they all
should be arriving
within the week
depending upon
visa, passports,
and criminal
investigations.
i have no place to
put them and i'm
low on coconut
milk and basil
chicken. but hey,
i'm kind of excited.
i've got a new
instant family.
shame they won't
be here for the
holidays to enjoy
my tree that i
just decorated and
set on the counter.
with lights
and everything.
i'm in the market
for bunk beds, so
if you have any,
cheap, give a
shout out.

the rear view mirror

there's the hall
mirror. framed in
black. the last
one you see before
leaving the house,
it's in a good place
to straighten
the tie, or to
check for shaving cream
left in an ear, or
a nick from the
razor leaving a
small blob of blood
on your chin. it
happens, but then
there's the bath
room mirrors too, all
bright and shiny,
fogged with steam,
speckled with tooth
paste, so hard to
clean once it hardens.
and the full length
mirror in the bedroom.
leaning behind a
door, rarely used
for anything other
than checking the
shoes, never anything
crazy or obscene,
but it's there
just in case,
and then there's
the mirror at the
top of the stairs,
a decorative sort
of thing, an antique,
which hardly holds
an image,and it's
distorted at best
in the shadowy over
head light, so many
mirrors, and then
the car has them too,
the flip down visor
has one, and the side
view mirrors, powered
and small, just enough
view. but my favorite
of all time, is
the rearview mirror,
the one i've been
staring at for awhile
now, as i drive away
from you.

no one's home

the parentless,
empty house on
the corner
with the blue
shutters loose
and dangling
in the wind,
is still there.
and out back is
the raw dirt
where the dog
ran all day long,
barking, and the
the front door
swings open, never
quite locked,
letting out
the darkness
within. and a
window is
broken on the
second floor where
a small boy
could peer
out. and the grass
never green,
is thick and
high in the front
yard, where the
mower stopped
and still stands,
and a rusted
swing set
sways gently on
the side,
in the autumn
wind next to a
plastic doll
with unshut
blue eyes and one
pink arm.
there was almost
something like
love there once,
i remember it's
absence like it
was yesterday.

someone exactly like you

i was going to
the zoo
the other day,
having a strong
desire to see
the monkeys in
their cages,
i took the cross
town bus and fell
asleep with my
head against
the window.
it was a deep
sleep, and i
dreamed about
someone who
reminded
me of you. she
was just like
you, but with blue
eyes and blonde
hair, and she
was very tall,
which you aren't.
and she spoke
with a foreign
accent, which may
have been french
or german, it was
a dream after all
and this part was
fuzzy. but despite
all the differences
she reminded me
exactly of you.
when i woke up
i had missed
my stop at the zoo,
and the bus circled
back to from
where i began,
and it was too late
now, it was getting
dark and colder,
and it was time
to go home. the
monkeys could wait
for another day.

walking around naked

i admire the way
you walk around
naked. no clothes,
no shoes, no hat,
not even a bullwhip
in your hand,
nothing but the curves
of you so plump
and unashamed at
who you are and what
you look like.
before or after sex,
it makes no difference.
not me. i need a towel
and a robe, and
sunglasses. put a
drink into my hand.
give me an umbrella
and slippers. i can't
show an inch of skin,
i need the lights off,
the curtains drawn,
the sun down. i pull
the sheets right up
to my chin. i'm sorry,
for being so shy,
and secretive, so
reluctant to let
you see me, but you
know that's who i am.

each dog has his day

my death
comes early
in the day. so
it takes awhile
before word
gets around.
i haven't
inconvenienced
anyone quite yet.
most are able
to fit lunch in
before they know,
before their
schedules
are turned
upside down
and need to
be rearranged.
the holidays
are no time
to pass away, to
slip into the
great beyond, it
let's the air
right out
of that balloon.
and i feel guilty
about that.
i don't want
to cause a stir,
or to be the
center of attention,
although it's so
hard not to do.
but so it goes.
each dog has
his day.

no one cooks anymore

they say they
do, and they talk
a good game,
about pasta and
steaks, and lobsters
and souffles, oh,
and the things they
used to bake,
back when the kids
were around, when
the ex's were still
in love with them
and on the couch
waiting patiently
for that dinner bell
to ring. but now,
in this day and age,
of being single
and alone, separated
or divorced, i've
rarely seen a meal
come out of an oven
or off a burner,
or anything mixed
and stirred with
loving care. none
of that hits
the table. now it's
just buy it as it
is. precooked, pre
sealed, preseasoned,
heat it up and there
you go. or call out
for chinese, or
perhaps dominos,
where's the coupon?
oh my, dinner
is served.

mispoken words

it was a tiny
crack, just a
small little
dent, a ping,
a fissure
in the glass,
a word you said,
without thinking.
and it made me
turn my head.
but now i can see
it stretch it's
zig zag way
across, from
side to side, in
front of me
and within.
i remember hearing
the pebble strike
and bounce,
the click of it
and there it
was. the beginning
of an end.

i hate winter

please
take your
cold wind,
your icy
walkways
and brittle
trees, so bare
of leaves
and blossoms.
just begone
with your frost
filled nights,
those broken
copper pipes
now full
of ice and
leave. please
take your snow,
your clouds
so dark and
low, your
arctic freeze.
that blows. i
want no more
of this,
of coats,
and gloves
and scarves
and hats,
and vicks
vapo rub.
i lie here
in a shiver,
and all the tea
and honey
and lemons in
the world
won't make
me be happy
about winter.
i hate it. now
please go.

to the moon alice

dear alice,
my life as
an astronaut has
not been what
i thought it would
be. i'm bored
out of my mind.
i'm typing this
on my new phone,
i hope you get it.
my fingers are so
large though with
these crazy gloves
on and i'm hitting
three keys at once.
the moon is such
a muse for poetry,
and yet i'm tired
of the moon.
the dark side
is exactly like
the light side.
there is no
mystery there.
surprise, a cold
hard rock that
reflects sunlight.
amazing, dust.
craters. that's
about it. i wanted
to join the program
because i wanted
to be free
from gravity,
to float in the air.
that seemed like
fun. gravity has
been keeping me
down way too long.
plus, i wanted
to be free from
you and your constant
nagging. to put some
distance between
us. see how you
like those long
silences. but now
i miss you. i itch
though, from this
urinary tract
infection which
may cause a problem
when i return, that is
if you are ever in
the mood again. sorry
about that last time.
i was a little over
anxious. my bad.
i'm hungry all
the time too. these
turkey and gravy pellets
just aren't getting
it done. i signed
up for the mars
voyage, but i'm
not sure if i want
to go now. it's so
far, and it takes
so long to get there.
and for what. more
rocks, more dust,
more nothing. i'm
constantly afraid of
running out of air.
every dream i have
is about that. being
sucked out of the
window into the
black void of space
gasping for air.
but you'd like that
though, wouldn't
you, wouldn't you
alice. sorry,
sorry, space makes
me a little
crazy sometimes.
well, i have to go
now, there's some
red lights blinking
and a siren going
off, i'm getting
dizzy. i hope to god
it's not the air
supply. i'll write
more later if i'm
still alive.
behave while
i'm gone. love you,
jimmy. xxxooo.

it's not the same

you have
a difficult
time with
words, when
speaking
with her now,
the questions
are odd, there
is no flow,
it's not natural
after so much
time has passed.
whatever love
there was is
gone, at last.
it's not the
same. her
voice is
different,
strange. she
comes from
another place,
she's under
another sun,
another moon.
nothing can
ever be the
same. and that's
a good thing.

Neva's daughter

i see her
in the library
bent over, grey,
and ten years
older, as i am,
since we last met,
since she stood
before the class
and taught the art
of poetry, she moves
between the books,
the tall aisles
that are silent
with so many words,
so many poems
written and unread,
and she sees
me and smiles and
says my name.
and we talk for
a minute or two,
exchange numbers
and e mails, and
she tells me about
the last thing
she had written,
the small chapbook
about her daughter
who was murdered
so long ago, but it
still keeps her
writing, trying to
solve the why of
that, and everything
else that has fallen
softly, like ashes,
inbetween the pages
of then and now.

bossy women

you find yourself
attracted
to bossy women,
some flashy, some
plain, some
somewhere inbetween,
but they are
bold and
smart, independent
and strong
willed. you like
the way they
self start. the
way they take without
asking, all
of them have a
bright red
button that
they push the
moment they wake
up. no need
for help. and you
get lost in
the chaos that
is who they are,
the tornado of
their lives. like
a ferris going
round and round
too fast, there
is a thrill, but
you are just
something
hovering in the
air, as they
spin and spin
with very little
time or heart
to share, and
eventually you
know within, that
you will fly
off the crazy wheel.

like us

some poems
are unfixable,
the metaphors
fall flat,
the lines
are too long
and there is
too much glitter,
too much me,
and not enough
substance,
or flow. like
us, it's best
to give it up,
to delete,
to let it go.