I remember standing in line
with my friend john at the unemployment
office.
we did everything together back then.
we had long hair, and no skills
to speak of. we had
three semesters of community
college under our belts
and were virtually unemployable,
but willing to learn.
we were excited to see
how much money we were going to get
for not working,
for being laid off on account
of the economy, the oil crisis,
weather, something.
it wasn't much, but it kept us
going through the winter months
as we looked in the paper for more
work we weren't qualified for.
his death has not dimmed
the memory of us
sitting in those green chairs,
in a smoke filled waiting room,
heavy with loss,
talking about basketball
and girls, laughing without
a care.
Friday, July 15, 2016
getting in line
I remember standing in line
with my friend john at the unemployment
office.
we did everything together back then.
we had long hair, and no skills
to speak of. we had
three semesters of community
college under our belts
and were virtually unemployable,
but willing to learn.
we were excited to see
how much money we were going to get
for not working,
for being laid off on account
of the economy, the oil crisis,
weather, something.
it wasn't much, but it kept us
going through the winter months
as we looked in the paper for more
work we weren't qualified for.
his death has not dimmed
the memory of us
sitting in those green chairs,
in a smoke filled waiting room,
heavy with loss,
talking about basketball
and girls, laughing without
a care.
with my friend john at the unemployment
office.
we did everything together back then.
we had long hair, and no skills
to speak of. we had
three semesters of community
college under our belts
and were virtually unemployable,
but willing to learn.
we were excited to see
how much money we were going to get
for not working,
for being laid off on account
of the economy, the oil crisis,
weather, something.
it wasn't much, but it kept us
going through the winter months
as we looked in the paper for more
work we weren't qualified for.
his death has not dimmed
the memory of us
sitting in those green chairs,
in a smoke filled waiting room,
heavy with loss,
talking about basketball
and girls, laughing without
a care.
do you have a boat?
she wanted to know if I had
a boat,
or a pool,
or a beach house
and I said no, but I have
a garden hose
in the back yard
that I can spray you with
if you stand still
and don't scream
like a baby.
she was not impressed,
so it never went any further
than me paying for
her dinner and three glasses
of wine, then walking
her out to her car
to be hugged, leaving
an etching of make up
on my shirt.
a boat,
or a pool,
or a beach house
and I said no, but I have
a garden hose
in the back yard
that I can spray you with
if you stand still
and don't scream
like a baby.
she was not impressed,
so it never went any further
than me paying for
her dinner and three glasses
of wine, then walking
her out to her car
to be hugged, leaving
an etching of make up
on my shirt.
do you have a boat?
she wanted to know if I had
a boat,
or a pool,
or a beach house
and I said no, but I have
a garden hose
in the back yard
that I can spray you with
if you stand still
and don't scream
like a baby.
she was not impressed,
so it never went any further
than me paying for
her dinner and three glasses
of wine, then walking
her out to her car
to be hugged, leaving
an etching of make up
on my shirt.
a boat,
or a pool,
or a beach house
and I said no, but I have
a garden hose
in the back yard
that I can spray you with
if you stand still
and don't scream
like a baby.
she was not impressed,
so it never went any further
than me paying for
her dinner and three glasses
of wine, then walking
her out to her car
to be hugged, leaving
an etching of make up
on my shirt.
the advice book
for Christmas one year
your minister
brother, not the other two,
but the good one
who lives in the bible belt
with his doors unlocked,
sent you a book titled
don't waste your life.
a few years later
he sent the same book,
forgetting that he had sent
the first one.
it became clear what his impression
of you was.
you skimmed the fist book,
and got some nice
ideas about how not to waste
your life, none of which you
can remember right now
because you're too busy doing
all the things
he's not allowed to do.
your minister
brother, not the other two,
but the good one
who lives in the bible belt
with his doors unlocked,
sent you a book titled
don't waste your life.
a few years later
he sent the same book,
forgetting that he had sent
the first one.
it became clear what his impression
of you was.
you skimmed the fist book,
and got some nice
ideas about how not to waste
your life, none of which you
can remember right now
because you're too busy doing
all the things
he's not allowed to do.
the advice book
for Christmas one year
your minister
brother, not the other two,
but the good one
who lives in the bible belt
with his doors unlocked,
sent you a book titled
don't waste your life.
a few years later
he sent the same book,
forgetting that he had sent
the first one.
it became clear what his impression
of you was.
you skimmed the fist book,
and got some nice
ideas about how not to waste
your life, none of which you
can remember right now
because you're too busy doing
all the things
he's not allowed to do.
your minister
brother, not the other two,
but the good one
who lives in the bible belt
with his doors unlocked,
sent you a book titled
don't waste your life.
a few years later
he sent the same book,
forgetting that he had sent
the first one.
it became clear what his impression
of you was.
you skimmed the fist book,
and got some nice
ideas about how not to waste
your life, none of which you
can remember right now
because you're too busy doing
all the things
he's not allowed to do.
the atomic red chair
the new chair
you received
in the mail
is too big. too orange,
too firm,
and yet there it sits.
it will take
some time to get used to,
but such is the price
one pays
when shopping online
after a drink or two.
the blue swatches are coming
though for another chair.
mid century modern,
and this chair can
be moved to a room
upstairs, while the new
blue chair will
take its place,
right there where no
one ever sits.
you received
in the mail
is too big. too orange,
too firm,
and yet there it sits.
it will take
some time to get used to,
but such is the price
one pays
when shopping online
after a drink or two.
the blue swatches are coming
though for another chair.
mid century modern,
and this chair can
be moved to a room
upstairs, while the new
blue chair will
take its place,
right there where no
one ever sits.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
let us pray
it's awkward at times
when
people want to pray together,
joining hands,
bowing heads
in a circle, or at a table
before a meal. happily
it's never me that leads the way.
I always look around
to see who
is or isn't praying,
squinting my eyes
checking everyone out
to see who might be a heathen.
I feel uncomfortable holding
hands with people
I don't know very well,
or even with those
that I do. my palms sweat
and I want to scratch my forehead
for some reason.
sometimes the prayer goes
on too long,
thanking God over and over again
for every little thing
under the sun,
while the food sits on the table,
hot and steaming
under our noses.
but I wait until the amens,
are said, mine included,
then dig in.
when
people want to pray together,
joining hands,
bowing heads
in a circle, or at a table
before a meal. happily
it's never me that leads the way.
I always look around
to see who
is or isn't praying,
squinting my eyes
checking everyone out
to see who might be a heathen.
I feel uncomfortable holding
hands with people
I don't know very well,
or even with those
that I do. my palms sweat
and I want to scratch my forehead
for some reason.
sometimes the prayer goes
on too long,
thanking God over and over again
for every little thing
under the sun,
while the food sits on the table,
hot and steaming
under our noses.
but I wait until the amens,
are said, mine included,
then dig in.
let us pray
it's awkward at times
when
people want to pray together,
joining hands,
bowing heads
in a circle, or at a table
before a meal. happily
it's never me that leads the way.
I always look around
to see who
is or isn't praying,
squinting my eyes
checking everyone out
to see who might be a heathen.
I feel uncomfortable holding
hands with people
I don't know very well,
or even with those
that I do. my palms sweat
and I want to scratch my forehead
for some reason.
sometimes the prayer goes
on too long,
thanking God over and over again
for every little thing
under the sun,
while the food sits on the table,
hot and steaming
under our noses.
but I wait until the amens,
are said, mine included,
then dig in.
when
people want to pray together,
joining hands,
bowing heads
in a circle, or at a table
before a meal. happily
it's never me that leads the way.
I always look around
to see who
is or isn't praying,
squinting my eyes
checking everyone out
to see who might be a heathen.
I feel uncomfortable holding
hands with people
I don't know very well,
or even with those
that I do. my palms sweat
and I want to scratch my forehead
for some reason.
sometimes the prayer goes
on too long,
thanking God over and over again
for every little thing
under the sun,
while the food sits on the table,
hot and steaming
under our noses.
but I wait until the amens,
are said, mine included,
then dig in.
this ladder
this ladder,
with all its metaled
rungs, pulled up
by a rope,
hold you
upright, slanted against
another house
in the july
sun.
one hand grips a sill
while the other
dips a brush into a bucket
before
sliding it across
the dry wood.
your knees bend in the open
air, your
shins pressed against
the steel
for balance.
the world is a precarious
place
to live in.
slowly you go down.
with all its metaled
rungs, pulled up
by a rope,
hold you
upright, slanted against
another house
in the july
sun.
one hand grips a sill
while the other
dips a brush into a bucket
before
sliding it across
the dry wood.
your knees bend in the open
air, your
shins pressed against
the steel
for balance.
the world is a precarious
place
to live in.
slowly you go down.
this ladder
this ladder,
with all its metaled
rungs, pulled up
by a rope,
hold you
upright, slanted against
another house
in the july
sun.
one hand grips a sill
while the other
dips a brush into a bucket
before
sliding it across
the dry wood.
your knees bend in the open
air, your
shins pressed against
the steel
for balance.
the world is a precarious
place
to live in.
slowly you go down.
with all its metaled
rungs, pulled up
by a rope,
hold you
upright, slanted against
another house
in the july
sun.
one hand grips a sill
while the other
dips a brush into a bucket
before
sliding it across
the dry wood.
your knees bend in the open
air, your
shins pressed against
the steel
for balance.
the world is a precarious
place
to live in.
slowly you go down.
only in the morning
at first it bothered you
how she only
wanted to make love in the morning.
what was wrong
with noon,
or midnight, or any other hour
besides seven a.m.,
she'd kiss you goodnight,
wearing her long vanilla dress,
bring in a glass
of water before turning
off the light,
as if you were a child,
then going to her own room,
to her own bed
down the hall
where she almost couldn't
hear you breathing.
how she only
wanted to make love in the morning.
what was wrong
with noon,
or midnight, or any other hour
besides seven a.m.,
she'd kiss you goodnight,
wearing her long vanilla dress,
bring in a glass
of water before turning
off the light,
as if you were a child,
then going to her own room,
to her own bed
down the hall
where she almost couldn't
hear you breathing.
the taste of yesterday
these women, some men
shop carefully
in the produce section
of the grocery store,
their carts pushed to one
side
as they study the fruit
and vegetables,
touching
and turning each peach,
each apple,
tasting one grape,
then another, looking off
as if remembering
what other grapes have tasted like.
what are they searching
for, tomorrows, no,
but yesterdays.
picking finally what suits
them,
placing
the onions, the potatoes,
the sweet corn
into bags, then moving forward.
shop carefully
in the produce section
of the grocery store,
their carts pushed to one
side
as they study the fruit
and vegetables,
touching
and turning each peach,
each apple,
tasting one grape,
then another, looking off
as if remembering
what other grapes have tasted like.
what are they searching
for, tomorrows, no,
but yesterdays.
picking finally what suits
them,
placing
the onions, the potatoes,
the sweet corn
into bags, then moving forward.
the taste of yesterday
these women, some men
shop carefully
in the produce section
of the grocery store,
their carts pushed to one
side
as they study the fruit
and vegetables,
touching
and turning each peach,
each apple,
tasting one grape,
then another, looking off
as if remembering
what other grapes have tasted like.
what are they searching
for, tomorrows, no,
but yesterdays.
picking finally what suits
them,
placing
the onions, the potatoes,
the sweet corn
into bags, then moving forward.
shop carefully
in the produce section
of the grocery store,
their carts pushed to one
side
as they study the fruit
and vegetables,
touching
and turning each peach,
each apple,
tasting one grape,
then another, looking off
as if remembering
what other grapes have tasted like.
what are they searching
for, tomorrows, no,
but yesterdays.
picking finally what suits
them,
placing
the onions, the potatoes,
the sweet corn
into bags, then moving forward.
in the shade
it's the kind
of weather that makes people
talk.
wiping
their brows
with sleeves, or
handkerchiefs. shaking
their shaggy
heads with
disbelief, staring up
into the sun
as if for the first time.
saying things,
like don't forget
to drink if you're thirsty.
work in the shade.
of weather that makes people
talk.
wiping
their brows
with sleeves, or
handkerchiefs. shaking
their shaggy
heads with
disbelief, staring up
into the sun
as if for the first time.
saying things,
like don't forget
to drink if you're thirsty.
work in the shade.
in the shade
it's the kind
of weather that makes people
talk.
wiping
their brows
with sleeves, or
handkerchiefs. shaking
their shaggy
heads with
disbelief, staring up
into the sun
as if for the first time.
saying things,
like don't forget
to drink if you're thirsty.
work in the shade.
of weather that makes people
talk.
wiping
their brows
with sleeves, or
handkerchiefs. shaking
their shaggy
heads with
disbelief, staring up
into the sun
as if for the first time.
saying things,
like don't forget
to drink if you're thirsty.
work in the shade.
the note
how nice
to get the written
note in the mail.
a hand
taking the time
to press
against
a card, inside, and write
what's felt.
the learned
script
of words and letters
flowing
across the short
blank page.
paper gems with which
you'll save.
to get the written
note in the mail.
a hand
taking the time
to press
against
a card, inside, and write
what's felt.
the learned
script
of words and letters
flowing
across the short
blank page.
paper gems with which
you'll save.
the note
how nice
to get the written
note in the mail.
a hand
taking the time
to press
against
a card, inside, and write
what's felt.
the learned
script
of words and letters
flowing
across the short
blank page.
paper gems with which
you'll save.
to get the written
note in the mail.
a hand
taking the time
to press
against
a card, inside, and write
what's felt.
the learned
script
of words and letters
flowing
across the short
blank page.
paper gems with which
you'll save.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
generosity
generosity
of spirit
is like the weather.
it changes
from day to day, hour
to hour.
rain on me,
and I run for cover.
strike me
with lighting
and our day as one
is done.
bring snow
and ice
to my door step,
then
i'll keep
the doors locked tight.
of spirit
is like the weather.
it changes
from day to day, hour
to hour.
rain on me,
and I run for cover.
strike me
with lighting
and our day as one
is done.
bring snow
and ice
to my door step,
then
i'll keep
the doors locked tight.
generosity
generosity
of spirit
is like the weather.
it changes
from day to day, hour
to hour.
rain on me,
and I run for cover.
strike me
with lighting
and our day as one
is done.
bring snow
and ice
to my door step,
then
i'll keep
the doors locked tight.
of spirit
is like the weather.
it changes
from day to day, hour
to hour.
rain on me,
and I run for cover.
strike me
with lighting
and our day as one
is done.
bring snow
and ice
to my door step,
then
i'll keep
the doors locked tight.
without you
across a white field
I walk,
ankle deep in the fresh
wool
of cold snow.
the field
is flat, goes on forever
from one blue
line
to another.
there are other things I
should be doing,
but for now, this walk
takes
up my time.
I see the bloom of my
breath in front of me,
always
just beyond my lips,
my legs lift then fall
leaving behind
who I used to be.
I walk,
ankle deep in the fresh
wool
of cold snow.
the field
is flat, goes on forever
from one blue
line
to another.
there are other things I
should be doing,
but for now, this walk
takes
up my time.
I see the bloom of my
breath in front of me,
always
just beyond my lips,
my legs lift then fall
leaving behind
who I used to be.
without you
across a white field
I walk,
ankle deep in the fresh
wool
of cold snow.
the field
is flat, goes on forever
from one blue
line
to another.
there are other things I
should be doing,
but for now, this walk
takes
up my time.
I see the bloom of my
breath in front of me,
always
just beyond my lips,
my legs lift then fall
leaving behind
who I used to be.
I walk,
ankle deep in the fresh
wool
of cold snow.
the field
is flat, goes on forever
from one blue
line
to another.
there are other things I
should be doing,
but for now, this walk
takes
up my time.
I see the bloom of my
breath in front of me,
always
just beyond my lips,
my legs lift then fall
leaving behind
who I used to be.
to each queen a subject
I ask for so little
and yet
give so much, it is what
martyrs are made
of.
pity and blood.
a slow
whine
of poor me.
you despise me for
this
but stay with me
just the same,
unworthy of others,
aiming low
to keep your position,
such as it is,
in your life.
each queen needing
subjects.
and yet
give so much, it is what
martyrs are made
of.
pity and blood.
a slow
whine
of poor me.
you despise me for
this
but stay with me
just the same,
unworthy of others,
aiming low
to keep your position,
such as it is,
in your life.
each queen needing
subjects.
to each queen a subject
I ask for so little
and yet
give so much, it is what
martyrs are made
of.
pity and blood.
a slow
whine
of poor me.
you despise me for
this
but stay with me
just the same,
unworthy of others,
aiming low
to keep your position,
such as it is,
in your life.
each queen needing
subjects.
and yet
give so much, it is what
martyrs are made
of.
pity and blood.
a slow
whine
of poor me.
you despise me for
this
but stay with me
just the same,
unworthy of others,
aiming low
to keep your position,
such as it is,
in your life.
each queen needing
subjects.
the clean baby
when the doctor tried
to hand you
the baby, your son, you asked,
politely if they
could clean him up a little first,
squeamish that you are.
they seemed
stunned, but you were wearing
a new shirt,
pressed pants,
and had just washed your hands.
so they did.
you held him tightly.
and still do,
despite him
being in California
for the rest of his young
life.
to hand you
the baby, your son, you asked,
politely if they
could clean him up a little first,
squeamish that you are.
they seemed
stunned, but you were wearing
a new shirt,
pressed pants,
and had just washed your hands.
so they did.
you held him tightly.
and still do,
despite him
being in California
for the rest of his young
life.
the clean baby
when the doctor tried
to hand you
the baby, your son, you asked,
politely if they
could clean him up a little first,
squeamish that you are.
they seemed
stunned, but you were wearing
a new shirt,
pressed pants,
and had just washed your hands.
so they did.
you held him tightly.
and still do,
despite him
being in California
for the rest of his young
life.
to hand you
the baby, your son, you asked,
politely if they
could clean him up a little first,
squeamish that you are.
they seemed
stunned, but you were wearing
a new shirt,
pressed pants,
and had just washed your hands.
so they did.
you held him tightly.
and still do,
despite him
being in California
for the rest of his young
life.
a hint of mint
the closets are almost all
empty,
everyone finally having come out
in some form or
another.
announcements are made to yawns,
and rolling of
eyes.
no one really cares, and we all
say things like, really.
as if we didn't know.
now pick me a color for my walls,
and fabric
for this chair.
show me how to make quiche,
tell me what's the best place
to vacation
in the fall?
empty,
everyone finally having come out
in some form or
another.
announcements are made to yawns,
and rolling of
eyes.
no one really cares, and we all
say things like, really.
as if we didn't know.
now pick me a color for my walls,
and fabric
for this chair.
show me how to make quiche,
tell me what's the best place
to vacation
in the fall?
a hint of mint
the closets are almost all
empty,
everyone finally having come out
in some form or
another.
announcements are made to yawns,
and rolling of
eyes.
no one really cares, and we all
say things like, really.
as if we didn't know.
now pick me a color for my walls,
and fabric
for this chair.
show me how to make quiche,
tell me what's the best place
to vacation
in the fall?
empty,
everyone finally having come out
in some form or
another.
announcements are made to yawns,
and rolling of
eyes.
no one really cares, and we all
say things like, really.
as if we didn't know.
now pick me a color for my walls,
and fabric
for this chair.
show me how to make quiche,
tell me what's the best place
to vacation
in the fall?
this world you are a part of
there are four doors
that rise and fall
at the end of a low lying brick building,
a warehouse
now a working garage.
English is not spoken.
an Asian man, kevin, is the owner
and writes
down his price
for you on a yellow sticky
note.
600, condenser.
text me when you come.
the ceilings are high
and dark.
grease is everywhere,
disembodied metal, bent or broken
lie about.
sparrows fly on dark wings
inside the cavern
of cars,
the sound of machinery doing
nothing to drive them out.
a man with one arm
is turning
a wrench, while another man
is lowering
an engine into the open mouth
of a white Hyundai.
beside one bay is a fan which
blows in the hot still air of summer.
kevin writes down
your phone number onto a cardboard
sheet that he tears off
a box, setting it onto
your front seat. we call, he says.
one o'clcck, then he turns
the key in your truck.
you walk to the end
of the service road
and call a taxi to take you home
to wait
and wonder about this world
you are a part of.
that rise and fall
at the end of a low lying brick building,
a warehouse
now a working garage.
English is not spoken.
an Asian man, kevin, is the owner
and writes
down his price
for you on a yellow sticky
note.
600, condenser.
text me when you come.
the ceilings are high
and dark.
grease is everywhere,
disembodied metal, bent or broken
lie about.
sparrows fly on dark wings
inside the cavern
of cars,
the sound of machinery doing
nothing to drive them out.
a man with one arm
is turning
a wrench, while another man
is lowering
an engine into the open mouth
of a white Hyundai.
beside one bay is a fan which
blows in the hot still air of summer.
kevin writes down
your phone number onto a cardboard
sheet that he tears off
a box, setting it onto
your front seat. we call, he says.
one o'clcck, then he turns
the key in your truck.
you walk to the end
of the service road
and call a taxi to take you home
to wait
and wonder about this world
you are a part of.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
karma, coming around
it's second hand news
how
your mother's husband of forty
years has to crawl now
to let the dog out,
a bag attached
to his side.
the cancer
having torn a hole
within him.
you hear how he no longer drives,
or drinks beer, or smokes.
you wonder
if he prays now too,
alone with his one light on.
if he's stopped using the words
nigger
and kike.
slant eyes.
has his illness bettered him?
does he regret
abusing your mother,
watching her go mute with stroke
after stroke, belittling
her children,
promising to send them back
to ghetto
if they didn't get in line,
pay rent,
and keep the showers short.
it's second hand news,
and your feelings are mixed.
sorrow
and sadness fused with
a sense of karma
coming around, finally.
how
your mother's husband of forty
years has to crawl now
to let the dog out,
a bag attached
to his side.
the cancer
having torn a hole
within him.
you hear how he no longer drives,
or drinks beer, or smokes.
you wonder
if he prays now too,
alone with his one light on.
if he's stopped using the words
nigger
and kike.
slant eyes.
has his illness bettered him?
does he regret
abusing your mother,
watching her go mute with stroke
after stroke, belittling
her children,
promising to send them back
to ghetto
if they didn't get in line,
pay rent,
and keep the showers short.
it's second hand news,
and your feelings are mixed.
sorrow
and sadness fused with
a sense of karma
coming around, finally.
jiggle the key
habits being what they
are
give the world an inertia,
a spin
you can't free yourself from.
take
the family
beach trip
to ocean city.
the boardwalk. the hard
red neck scrabble
of it all. bikinis and leather.
bearded men
with ear rings, hogs
revved and revved again
in the gravel lots.
how the fried food
filled the air, the stickiness
of cotton candy
in the clouds. the
fried sticks of chalked men
and women
or rounded
out of shape patrons
roasting
in the july sun on too small
of a towel.
so you went, wife, and kid,
dog
in a kennel for a week.
the same hotel
where they almost knew you.
parking free. the beds stiff
and the rooms smelling
of disinfectant. no, let me
try. you have to jiggle
the key.
a book of coupons on the wobbling
dresser to buy
taffy and ride
the ferris wheel.
are
give the world an inertia,
a spin
you can't free yourself from.
take
the family
beach trip
to ocean city.
the boardwalk. the hard
red neck scrabble
of it all. bikinis and leather.
bearded men
with ear rings, hogs
revved and revved again
in the gravel lots.
how the fried food
filled the air, the stickiness
of cotton candy
in the clouds. the
fried sticks of chalked men
and women
or rounded
out of shape patrons
roasting
in the july sun on too small
of a towel.
so you went, wife, and kid,
dog
in a kennel for a week.
the same hotel
where they almost knew you.
parking free. the beds stiff
and the rooms smelling
of disinfectant. no, let me
try. you have to jiggle
the key.
a book of coupons on the wobbling
dresser to buy
taffy and ride
the ferris wheel.
venting
your anger
about
the car mechanic
spills over into yelp.
a helpless
cry
of angst.
but typing it all out
seems to make
you feel better,
so in a way it's a good
thing.
nice to vent,
despite
not changing a single
thing
gone wrong.
about
the car mechanic
spills over into yelp.
a helpless
cry
of angst.
but typing it all out
seems to make
you feel better,
so in a way it's a good
thing.
nice to vent,
despite
not changing a single
thing
gone wrong.
venting
your anger
about
the car mechanic
spills over into yelp.
a helpless
cry
of angst.
but typing it all out
seems to make
you feel better,
so in a way it's a good
thing.
nice to vent,
despite
not changing a single
thing
gone wrong.
about
the car mechanic
spills over into yelp.
a helpless
cry
of angst.
but typing it all out
seems to make
you feel better,
so in a way it's a good
thing.
nice to vent,
despite
not changing a single
thing
gone wrong.
breakfast
after a night,
then morning of passionate
love making, she says
i'll make us breakfast.
you like
oats don't you.
i'll cut up an apple,
make some green tea.
perhaps
a little cup of yogurt
with cling
peaches and raisins.
sound good?
you say yes, but think
no.
dreaming of bacon,
eggs over easy,
potatoes.
then morning of passionate
love making, she says
i'll make us breakfast.
you like
oats don't you.
i'll cut up an apple,
make some green tea.
perhaps
a little cup of yogurt
with cling
peaches and raisins.
sound good?
you say yes, but think
no.
dreaming of bacon,
eggs over easy,
potatoes.
he knows
my husband
knows,
she says to me, whispering
in an overcoat,
a large
hat hiding her head.
we are in
an alley,
in the shadows.
he knows
I don't love
him
and about us.
what?
I say.
will he kill us, or me.
oh no,
he's not a violent man,
not yet.
we're safe for now.
kiss me.
knows,
she says to me, whispering
in an overcoat,
a large
hat hiding her head.
we are in
an alley,
in the shadows.
he knows
I don't love
him
and about us.
what?
I say.
will he kill us, or me.
oh no,
he's not a violent man,
not yet.
we're safe for now.
kiss me.
he knows
my husband
knows,
she says to me, whispering
in an overcoat,
a large
hat hiding her head.
we are in
an alley,
in the shadows.
he knows
I don't love
him
and about us.
what?
I say.
will he kill us, or me.
oh no,
he's not a violent man,
not yet.
we're safe for now.
kiss me.
knows,
she says to me, whispering
in an overcoat,
a large
hat hiding her head.
we are in
an alley,
in the shadows.
he knows
I don't love
him
and about us.
what?
I say.
will he kill us, or me.
oh no,
he's not a violent man,
not yet.
we're safe for now.
kiss me.
making things up
a sheet of white
paper, bare,
a slice of white canvas
waiting
for your hand to apply
ink
no longer has any power
over you.
you can fill
it easily now with so much
time behind you.
the early
years were harder,
making things up
as you go.
that's no longer an issue.
paper, bare,
a slice of white canvas
waiting
for your hand to apply
ink
no longer has any power
over you.
you can fill
it easily now with so much
time behind you.
the early
years were harder,
making things up
as you go.
that's no longer an issue.
making things up
a sheet of white
paper, bare,
a slice of white canvas
waiting
for your hand to apply
ink
no longer has any power
over you.
you can fill
it easily now with so much
time behind you.
the early
years were harder,
making things up
as you go.
that's no longer an issue.
paper, bare,
a slice of white canvas
waiting
for your hand to apply
ink
no longer has any power
over you.
you can fill
it easily now with so much
time behind you.
the early
years were harder,
making things up
as you go.
that's no longer an issue.
Monday, July 11, 2016
coupons
with parts and labor
this life
will cost
you over a life time.
tags, title, taxes.
if you break even or leave
the kid a small
bundle of cash,
so be it.
no sense in counting coins
anymore.
enough is enough.
you could live out the string
without issue,
so why the coupons?
this life
will cost
you over a life time.
tags, title, taxes.
if you break even or leave
the kid a small
bundle of cash,
so be it.
no sense in counting coins
anymore.
enough is enough.
you could live out the string
without issue,
so why the coupons?
coupons
with parts and labor
this life
will cost
you over a life time.
tags, title, taxes.
if you break even or leave
the kid a small
bundle of cash,
so be it.
no sense in counting coins
anymore.
enough is enough.
you could live out the string
without issue,
so why the coupons?
this life
will cost
you over a life time.
tags, title, taxes.
if you break even or leave
the kid a small
bundle of cash,
so be it.
no sense in counting coins
anymore.
enough is enough.
you could live out the string
without issue,
so why the coupons?
the brother
your brother spends
a few nights
on your couch, going through hard
times
brought on
by himself.
you have no rules
for his visit, stay, sleep, eat,
shower,
make it your home,
no smoking though
is allowed.
so it surprises you when at the end
of the week,
you smell
cigarettes in the air,
and see that he has
gone through all your papers,
your accounts, your
private
box of bills, clumsily
stuffing them back
where they were found.
how different you both are
despite the blood.
a few nights
on your couch, going through hard
times
brought on
by himself.
you have no rules
for his visit, stay, sleep, eat,
shower,
make it your home,
no smoking though
is allowed.
so it surprises you when at the end
of the week,
you smell
cigarettes in the air,
and see that he has
gone through all your papers,
your accounts, your
private
box of bills, clumsily
stuffing them back
where they were found.
how different you both are
despite the blood.
the brother
your brother spends
a few nights
on your couch, going through hard
times
brought on
by himself.
you have no rules
for his visit, stay, sleep, eat,
shower,
make it your home,
no smoking though
is allowed.
so it surprises you when at the end
of the week,
you smell
cigarettes in the air,
and see that he has
gone through all your papers,
your accounts, your
private
box of bills, clumsily
stuffing them back
where they were found.
how different you both are
despite the blood.
a few nights
on your couch, going through hard
times
brought on
by himself.
you have no rules
for his visit, stay, sleep, eat,
shower,
make it your home,
no smoking though
is allowed.
so it surprises you when at the end
of the week,
you smell
cigarettes in the air,
and see that he has
gone through all your papers,
your accounts, your
private
box of bills, clumsily
stuffing them back
where they were found.
how different you both are
despite the blood.
under the rain
a woman neither pretty
or bland,
but wide eyed,
waits beside
the door, out of the rain.
her umbrella close
beside her.
she peers down
the road,
to the left
to the right, checks
her watch.
finally a man
arrives, his hand above
his brow,
they kiss, look around,
then kiss once
more.
quickly they are gone,
hand in hand,
running under
the rain,
which is less important
now
than what is to come.
or bland,
but wide eyed,
waits beside
the door, out of the rain.
her umbrella close
beside her.
she peers down
the road,
to the left
to the right, checks
her watch.
finally a man
arrives, his hand above
his brow,
they kiss, look around,
then kiss once
more.
quickly they are gone,
hand in hand,
running under
the rain,
which is less important
now
than what is to come.
time spent
how death
invades our lives,
tickets bought,
turned in for flights
that won't
be taken.
plans changed, bags
unpacked or
packed
to leave or stay.
how the phone rings and brings
us news,
the grief measured
not in tears,
or memories,
but shrugs of disappointment
of how this
time
will be, or not be
used.
invades our lives,
tickets bought,
turned in for flights
that won't
be taken.
plans changed, bags
unpacked or
packed
to leave or stay.
how the phone rings and brings
us news,
the grief measured
not in tears,
or memories,
but shrugs of disappointment
of how this
time
will be, or not be
used.
time spent
how death
invades our lives,
tickets bought,
turned in for flights
that won't
be taken.
plans changed, bags
unpacked or
packed
to leave or stay.
how the phone rings and brings
us news,
the grief measured
not in tears,
or memories,
but shrugs of disappointment
of how this
time
will be, or not be
used.
invades our lives,
tickets bought,
turned in for flights
that won't
be taken.
plans changed, bags
unpacked or
packed
to leave or stay.
how the phone rings and brings
us news,
the grief measured
not in tears,
or memories,
but shrugs of disappointment
of how this
time
will be, or not be
used.
twin beds
I remember the bright
light
coming through the unshaded
window
where my brother and I slept
in twin beds,
across from one another.
he rose early,
I preferred to sleep in,
our nights
being different, what with
him
at the books and learning,
and me
out
on the street in the hollows
of parks
with friends,
not all of which were
boys.
light
coming through the unshaded
window
where my brother and I slept
in twin beds,
across from one another.
he rose early,
I preferred to sleep in,
our nights
being different, what with
him
at the books and learning,
and me
out
on the street in the hollows
of parks
with friends,
not all of which were
boys.
a place to call home
a place
to rest. a chair that fits
you
as you left
it so many hours ago.
your glasses
on the table where you placed them
next to a cup, now
empty.
the book you were
reading, turned
over to the last
page read.
it's a place
you like to call home.
where the rest
of the world
can't enter, where you
find
it nice
to be alone.
to rest. a chair that fits
you
as you left
it so many hours ago.
your glasses
on the table where you placed them
next to a cup, now
empty.
the book you were
reading, turned
over to the last
page read.
it's a place
you like to call home.
where the rest
of the world
can't enter, where you
find
it nice
to be alone.
the other shoe
the other shoe falls.
but you
don't always hear it.
it could be a foot in
a soft
slipper, or just socks,
or a light heel.
or even barefoot.
the other foot,
is not always in a boot,
stepping harshly
upon
your foot, making you
scream
with pain.
sometimes the pain is
gradual,
a slow slow
falling rain.
but you
don't always hear it.
it could be a foot in
a soft
slipper, or just socks,
or a light heel.
or even barefoot.
the other foot,
is not always in a boot,
stepping harshly
upon
your foot, making you
scream
with pain.
sometimes the pain is
gradual,
a slow slow
falling rain.
the other shoe
the other shoe falls.
but you
don't always hear it.
it could be a foot in
a soft
slipper, or just socks,
or a light heel.
or even barefoot.
the other foot,
is not always in a boot,
stepping harshly
upon
your foot, making you
scream
with pain.
sometimes the pain is
gradual,
a slow slow
falling rain.
but you
don't always hear it.
it could be a foot in
a soft
slipper, or just socks,
or a light heel.
or even barefoot.
the other foot,
is not always in a boot,
stepping harshly
upon
your foot, making you
scream
with pain.
sometimes the pain is
gradual,
a slow slow
falling rain.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
love stories
sometimes you remember
things in pieces.
a word, a look,
a moment that has passed,
thin memories of
love stories
that didn't last.
other times
its a movie, a full
length feature,
with subtitles and music,
a remembered cast.
the beginning middle
and end.
I remember you this
way, not the other.
things in pieces.
a word, a look,
a moment that has passed,
thin memories of
love stories
that didn't last.
other times
its a movie, a full
length feature,
with subtitles and music,
a remembered cast.
the beginning middle
and end.
I remember you this
way, not the other.
another color
a can
of red paint, old, rusted
edges, a bent handle,
tattered
label.
a dried lick
solid
against the side.
a shake
reveals nothing,
but dry
shards of a color
faded,
once applied to a room
with joy,
but tired now,
now that things have
changed,
the years having turned you
towards
a different way of thinking,
another color.
of red paint, old, rusted
edges, a bent handle,
tattered
label.
a dried lick
solid
against the side.
a shake
reveals nothing,
but dry
shards of a color
faded,
once applied to a room
with joy,
but tired now,
now that things have
changed,
the years having turned you
towards
a different way of thinking,
another color.
without compromise
it's hard not to love
a dog.
four legs, fur, a tongue,
tail wagging
with delight
at the sight of you
finally coming home,
arriving.
it's hard not to throw
the ball
across the yard,
send it sailing
in an arc
across the blue sky
of his young life, longer
than yours is
at the moment.
hard not to love anyone
or anything that
gives it back without
compromise.
a dog.
four legs, fur, a tongue,
tail wagging
with delight
at the sight of you
finally coming home,
arriving.
it's hard not to throw
the ball
across the yard,
send it sailing
in an arc
across the blue sky
of his young life, longer
than yours is
at the moment.
hard not to love anyone
or anything that
gives it back without
compromise.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
getting there
there are places
that you want to go to,
but they aren't on any map.
no globe,
no sextant will
get you there,
or gps.
it's a different place,
one you can only
go alone
and be happy.
you've stepped onto that
sand a few times,
taking a dip
into the clear blue
waters of bliss,
but getting there and staying
there
are two different things.
that you want to go to,
but they aren't on any map.
no globe,
no sextant will
get you there,
or gps.
it's a different place,
one you can only
go alone
and be happy.
you've stepped onto that
sand a few times,
taking a dip
into the clear blue
waters of bliss,
but getting there and staying
there
are two different things.
getting there
there are places
that you want to go to,
but they aren't on any map.
no globe,
no sextant will
get you there,
or gps.
it's a different place,
one you can only
go alone
and be happy.
you've stepped onto that
sand a few times,
taking a dip
into the clear blue
waters of bliss,
but getting there and staying
there
are two different things.
that you want to go to,
but they aren't on any map.
no globe,
no sextant will
get you there,
or gps.
it's a different place,
one you can only
go alone
and be happy.
you've stepped onto that
sand a few times,
taking a dip
into the clear blue
waters of bliss,
but getting there and staying
there
are two different things.
what are we living for
I thought you were on a diet,
she says to me,
as she sits down
with an ice cream cone,
a double scoop of what looks
like rocky road
and mint chip,
each of us tapping our
cones together
before commencing with
with long licks.
yeah, mine starts after
this cone, I tell her.
as soon as I unwrap
that little piece of paper
off the bottom
of my sugar cone
and eat the little pointy end.
it's summer,
it's hot and I want ice cream.
I mean what are we
alive for if we can't
have an ice cream cone.
i'll lick to that she
says, bumping her cone
against mine again.
there's a drip on your shirt,
she says,
making me look down,
then tapping my chin with
her hand.
gotcha, she says. made
you look.
she says to me,
as she sits down
with an ice cream cone,
a double scoop of what looks
like rocky road
and mint chip,
each of us tapping our
cones together
before commencing with
with long licks.
yeah, mine starts after
this cone, I tell her.
as soon as I unwrap
that little piece of paper
off the bottom
of my sugar cone
and eat the little pointy end.
it's summer,
it's hot and I want ice cream.
I mean what are we
alive for if we can't
have an ice cream cone.
i'll lick to that she
says, bumping her cone
against mine again.
there's a drip on your shirt,
she says,
making me look down,
then tapping my chin with
her hand.
gotcha, she says. made
you look.
a fresh start
being the entrepreneur
that you are,
you decide to open up
a tattoo removal parlor
on the corner.
surely these people, once
they hit middle
age, and sober up,
when the blues turn
green, the reds a mushy orange,
and the skin
sags, turning words like
respect into
a soft mass of scribble,
surely they'll want me to go
to work on them,
and scrape
the skin clean once more.
that you are,
you decide to open up
a tattoo removal parlor
on the corner.
surely these people, once
they hit middle
age, and sober up,
when the blues turn
green, the reds a mushy orange,
and the skin
sags, turning words like
respect into
a soft mass of scribble,
surely they'll want me to go
to work on them,
and scrape
the skin clean once more.
a fresh start
being the entrepreneur
that you are,
you decide to open up
a tattoo removal parlor
on the corner.
surely these people, once
they hit middle
age, and sober up,
when the blues turn
green, the reds a mushy orange,
and the skin
sags, turning words like
respect into
a soft mass of scribble,
surely they'll want me to go
to work on them,
and scrape
the skin clean once more.
that you are,
you decide to open up
a tattoo removal parlor
on the corner.
surely these people, once
they hit middle
age, and sober up,
when the blues turn
green, the reds a mushy orange,
and the skin
sags, turning words like
respect into
a soft mass of scribble,
surely they'll want me to go
to work on them,
and scrape
the skin clean once more.
moments of longing
there are moments
of longing.
whether for that little
sports car
with the retractable roof
or the brunette
who moved in
next door
and suns herself in
the back yard.
a blue
mid century chair
at the moment has your interest.
it could be
here by Friday,
you think as you stare
out the window
wondering
what her name is.
of longing.
whether for that little
sports car
with the retractable roof
or the brunette
who moved in
next door
and suns herself in
the back yard.
a blue
mid century chair
at the moment has your interest.
it could be
here by Friday,
you think as you stare
out the window
wondering
what her name is.
bon appetite
when you first learn
about cannibals as a kid
in school,
see the pictures of
men and women
boiling in a giant
pot over a fire,
you quickly, with your friends,
discuss if you could
eat someone.
what parts would be possible,
to cook
and bite into.
would salt and pepper
be involved.
ketchup.
it's a terrifying conversation
between twelve year
olds,
but funny
and doesn't effect your
appetite at all
when your mother
calls you in with dinner
on the table. your favorite.
pork chops.
about cannibals as a kid
in school,
see the pictures of
men and women
boiling in a giant
pot over a fire,
you quickly, with your friends,
discuss if you could
eat someone.
what parts would be possible,
to cook
and bite into.
would salt and pepper
be involved.
ketchup.
it's a terrifying conversation
between twelve year
olds,
but funny
and doesn't effect your
appetite at all
when your mother
calls you in with dinner
on the table. your favorite.
pork chops.
bon appetite
when you first learn
about cannibals as a kid
in school,
see the pictures of
men and women
boiling in a giant
pot over a fire,
you quickly, with your friends,
discuss if you could
eat someone.
what parts would be possible,
to cook
and bite into.
would salt and pepper
be involved.
ketchup.
it's a terrifying conversation
between twelve year
olds,
but funny
and doesn't effect your
appetite at all
when your mother
calls you in with dinner
on the table. your favorite.
pork chops.
about cannibals as a kid
in school,
see the pictures of
men and women
boiling in a giant
pot over a fire,
you quickly, with your friends,
discuss if you could
eat someone.
what parts would be possible,
to cook
and bite into.
would salt and pepper
be involved.
ketchup.
it's a terrifying conversation
between twelve year
olds,
but funny
and doesn't effect your
appetite at all
when your mother
calls you in with dinner
on the table. your favorite.
pork chops.
here, hold my purse
i'll be right out.
I want to try this on, she says.
here,
hold my purse.
so I do.
it's a heavy purse,
I want to open it and see
what's making
it so heavy as she changes
into another flowery dress
in the dressing room,
I don't. but then again,
maybe just a peek.
unsnap the clasp and quickly
take a look.
but no.
I'd rather not know about
the things
that are weighing her
down.
too much information.
let's keep the unknown
unknown.
what about this one, she
says, coming out in her
bare feet
spinning around.
lovely, I tell her. lovely.
I want to try this on, she says.
here,
hold my purse.
so I do.
it's a heavy purse,
I want to open it and see
what's making
it so heavy as she changes
into another flowery dress
in the dressing room,
I don't. but then again,
maybe just a peek.
unsnap the clasp and quickly
take a look.
but no.
I'd rather not know about
the things
that are weighing her
down.
too much information.
let's keep the unknown
unknown.
what about this one, she
says, coming out in her
bare feet
spinning around.
lovely, I tell her. lovely.
buy two.
extended warranty
the warranty
only covers the things that will
never happen.
so goes insurance,
and whatever
extra
coverage they want to sell
on anything you
buy.
small drips of water
creating an ocean
of wealth, rarely
dipped into
to douse the flames
of your broken
machine or body.
only covers the things that will
never happen.
so goes insurance,
and whatever
extra
coverage they want to sell
on anything you
buy.
small drips of water
creating an ocean
of wealth, rarely
dipped into
to douse the flames
of your broken
machine or body.
extended warranty
the warranty
only covers the things that will
never happen.
so goes insurance,
and whatever
extra
coverage they want to sell
on anything you
buy.
small drips of water
creating an ocean
of wealth, rarely
dipped into
to douse the flames
of your broken
machine or body.
only covers the things that will
never happen.
so goes insurance,
and whatever
extra
coverage they want to sell
on anything you
buy.
small drips of water
creating an ocean
of wealth, rarely
dipped into
to douse the flames
of your broken
machine or body.
protest
funny
how we warm up to death
in
the papers,
on the news,
giving us reason
to shout
and march, and then disperse
back
to our own
nests, bolting the door.
our protest
goes cold so quickly
these days.
a stale same
dish
gone hard in a pot,
besides another pot,
on the stove.
how we warm up to death
in
the papers,
on the news,
giving us reason
to shout
and march, and then disperse
back
to our own
nests, bolting the door.
our protest
goes cold so quickly
these days.
a stale same
dish
gone hard in a pot,
besides another pot,
on the stove.
protest
funny
how we warm up to death
in
the papers,
on the news,
giving us reason
to shout
and march, and then disperse
back
to our own
nests, bolting the door.
our protest
goes cold so quickly
these days.
a stale same
dish
gone hard in a pot,
besides another pot,
on the stove.
how we warm up to death
in
the papers,
on the news,
giving us reason
to shout
and march, and then disperse
back
to our own
nests, bolting the door.
our protest
goes cold so quickly
these days.
a stale same
dish
gone hard in a pot,
besides another pot,
on the stove.
Friday, July 8, 2016
a slice of cake
a slice of cake
would be nice right about
now.
home made.
on a round white plate.
a cold glass
of milk.
a fork, a knife,
a napkin.
and you beside me
with powder
on your nose,
icing on your apron.
would be nice right about
now.
home made.
on a round white plate.
a cold glass
of milk.
a fork, a knife,
a napkin.
and you beside me
with powder
on your nose,
icing on your apron.
a slice of cake
a slice of cake
would be nice right about
now.
home made.
on a round white plate.
a cold glass
of milk.
a fork, a knife,
a napkin.
and you beside me
with powder
on your nose,
icing on your apron.
would be nice right about
now.
home made.
on a round white plate.
a cold glass
of milk.
a fork, a knife,
a napkin.
and you beside me
with powder
on your nose,
icing on your apron.
stop being you
it's not the money
it's the principle of the thing
I say
with a forceful
strident voice, one foot
on the proverbial
self righteous
soap box.
how dare they, the nerve,
the audacity
the outrage of their
callous behavior. who do
these people think they are?
but I settle down soon,
unable to keep up the vigor
of my position.
I calm down and slip
into a nice quiet
reflective place
after a drink
or two. I watch as
the sun slips under
the veil
of a summer black sky
set with diamonds,
without even the thinnest
of moons. how quickly the world
loses its power
over you
when you stop being you.
it's the principle of the thing
I say
with a forceful
strident voice, one foot
on the proverbial
self righteous
soap box.
how dare they, the nerve,
the audacity
the outrage of their
callous behavior. who do
these people think they are?
but I settle down soon,
unable to keep up the vigor
of my position.
I calm down and slip
into a nice quiet
reflective place
after a drink
or two. I watch as
the sun slips under
the veil
of a summer black sky
set with diamonds,
without even the thinnest
of moons. how quickly the world
loses its power
over you
when you stop being you.
a change of course
you think about adding
muscle
to your frame,
maybe pump up those biceps,
work on the abs,
then go to the beach
after getting
a spray on tan.
but it's a lot of work.
so you buy an
ice cream instead
and put on a long
sleeve shirt,
grab a book and go
sit in the shade
at the park.
muscle
to your frame,
maybe pump up those biceps,
work on the abs,
then go to the beach
after getting
a spray on tan.
but it's a lot of work.
so you buy an
ice cream instead
and put on a long
sleeve shirt,
grab a book and go
sit in the shade
at the park.
a change of course
you think about adding
muscle
to your frame,
maybe pump up those biceps,
work on the abs,
then go to the beach
after getting
a spray on tan.
but it's a lot of work.
so you buy an
ice cream instead
and put on a long
sleeve shirt,
grab a book and go
sit in the shade
at the park.
muscle
to your frame,
maybe pump up those biceps,
work on the abs,
then go to the beach
after getting
a spray on tan.
but it's a lot of work.
so you buy an
ice cream instead
and put on a long
sleeve shirt,
grab a book and go
sit in the shade
at the park.
the rich uncle
the rich uncle died
on his boat in florida,
leaving you nothing, why would
he?
but as a child
you remember him
arriving in his white Cadillac
and white
suit from Philly
to visit.
he thought the front of your
mother's house
must be the back.
what with the chain
linked fence and dog
tied to a tree.
he gave everyone a five dollar
bill
at each visit. patting you
on the head
with a look of disdain
and sorrow.
he never stayed over
or sat in a chair,
but he asked where the liquor
store was
so he could load up
his trunk with whiskey,
the taxes being lower here.
on his boat in florida,
leaving you nothing, why would
he?
but as a child
you remember him
arriving in his white Cadillac
and white
suit from Philly
to visit.
he thought the front of your
mother's house
must be the back.
what with the chain
linked fence and dog
tied to a tree.
he gave everyone a five dollar
bill
at each visit. patting you
on the head
with a look of disdain
and sorrow.
he never stayed over
or sat in a chair,
but he asked where the liquor
store was
so he could load up
his trunk with whiskey,
the taxes being lower here.
the crowded trail
while riding my
bike
through the woods on the paved
path,
I see snakes
that I must swerve
to avoid,
foxes darting
through the brush,
the startled
frozen poses
of deer.
raccoons hissing,
eating
something
dead on the side
of the trail.
there is the shadowed
swoop of owls
holding mice
in their claws.
I swallow gnats along
the way,
wiping them out of
my eyes and ears,
but the hardest part
of the ride
is people.
hand in hand, strollers
and dogs,
plugged in to phones
and music
not knowing that your
pedaling near.
bike
through the woods on the paved
path,
I see snakes
that I must swerve
to avoid,
foxes darting
through the brush,
the startled
frozen poses
of deer.
raccoons hissing,
eating
something
dead on the side
of the trail.
there is the shadowed
swoop of owls
holding mice
in their claws.
I swallow gnats along
the way,
wiping them out of
my eyes and ears,
but the hardest part
of the ride
is people.
hand in hand, strollers
and dogs,
plugged in to phones
and music
not knowing that your
pedaling near.
the magic rock
there is no such
thing
as a warranty, i discover
when
the air conditioner
breaks down
in my new truck.
you must have done something
to it,
the mechanic says,
or maybe a magic
rock found it's way through
the grille
and through
the engine
to locate the condenser
and puncture it,
thus letting out all the Freon.
yeah.
and people get
pregnant from sitting
on toilet seats
I say, not amused
at the twelve hundred
dollar bill.
thing
as a warranty, i discover
when
the air conditioner
breaks down
in my new truck.
you must have done something
to it,
the mechanic says,
or maybe a magic
rock found it's way through
the grille
and through
the engine
to locate the condenser
and puncture it,
thus letting out all the Freon.
yeah.
and people get
pregnant from sitting
on toilet seats
I say, not amused
at the twelve hundred
dollar bill.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
some mornings
some mornings are better
than others.
some
evenings too.
hard to know which
spot
you're going to land on.
something
pushes you forward,
a roll of the dice.
strange enthusiasm,
familiar
boredom.
than others.
some
evenings too.
hard to know which
spot
you're going to land on.
something
pushes you forward,
a roll of the dice.
strange enthusiasm,
familiar
boredom.
some mornings
some mornings are better
than others.
some
evenings too.
hard to know which
spot
you're going to land on.
something
pushes you forward,
a roll of the dice.
strange enthusiasm,
familiar
boredom.
than others.
some
evenings too.
hard to know which
spot
you're going to land on.
something
pushes you forward,
a roll of the dice.
strange enthusiasm,
familiar
boredom.
leopard print
her one closet
held everything that was of
a leopard print.
shoes and skirts,
blouses,
hats.
undergarments.
she would have wiped
out the entire
leopard
population
if they were real,
but they weren't.
it helped
to bring out the animal
in you though.
held everything that was of
a leopard print.
shoes and skirts,
blouses,
hats.
undergarments.
she would have wiped
out the entire
leopard
population
if they were real,
but they weren't.
it helped
to bring out the animal
in you though.
leopard print
her one closet
held everything that was of
a leopard print.
shoes and skirts,
blouses,
hats.
undergarments.
she would have wiped
out the entire
leopard
population
if they were real,
but they weren't.
it helped
to bring out the animal
in you though.
held everything that was of
a leopard print.
shoes and skirts,
blouses,
hats.
undergarments.
she would have wiped
out the entire
leopard
population
if they were real,
but they weren't.
it helped
to bring out the animal
in you though.
direction
a gaggle
of black birds fly across
the blue
patch
of sky
as one.
how do they know which
way
to steer
their wings
then land. how do we
know
these things
as well.
of black birds fly across
the blue
patch
of sky
as one.
how do they know which
way
to steer
their wings
then land. how do we
know
these things
as well.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
coffee talk
the man who approaches me
in the coffee shop
as I grumble to myself about
there being no half and half
on the counter
asks me what my politics are.
you aren't for trump are you,
he says, sizing me up, as
I step away and put the empty
container on the counter.
huh, I say. what?
you want to build a wall,
he says. who will mow your
lawns, watch your children,
clean your rooms, paint
your houses. huh? I say again,
looking more deeply into his
eyes to see if he's as dangerously
crazy as he's beginning to sound.
I paint houses, I tell him. so
I guess i'll do that.
finally getting the new
cold canister of half and half, i pour
it and stir sugar into my coffee,
i secure the lid, then take a sip.
the man hasn't gone away.
he's closer. in my face.
you want trump, he asks again.
no, I tell him, actually I
don't like either one of those
weasels. so my answer is no.
I have post traumatic syndrome,
he says. I fight for your
country and you want to kick
me out. why is that?
listen, he says loudly,
come over here and sit
down with me. let's discuss
this. ummm. no. I have to go
to work I tell him. I have this
thing called a job.
but it's been lovely talking
with you. good luck with
everything, maybe have those
meds adjusted.
in the coffee shop
as I grumble to myself about
there being no half and half
on the counter
asks me what my politics are.
you aren't for trump are you,
he says, sizing me up, as
I step away and put the empty
container on the counter.
huh, I say. what?
you want to build a wall,
he says. who will mow your
lawns, watch your children,
clean your rooms, paint
your houses. huh? I say again,
looking more deeply into his
eyes to see if he's as dangerously
crazy as he's beginning to sound.
I paint houses, I tell him. so
I guess i'll do that.
finally getting the new
cold canister of half and half, i pour
it and stir sugar into my coffee,
i secure the lid, then take a sip.
the man hasn't gone away.
he's closer. in my face.
you want trump, he asks again.
no, I tell him, actually I
don't like either one of those
weasels. so my answer is no.
I have post traumatic syndrome,
he says. I fight for your
country and you want to kick
me out. why is that?
listen, he says loudly,
come over here and sit
down with me. let's discuss
this. ummm. no. I have to go
to work I tell him. I have this
thing called a job.
but it's been lovely talking
with you. good luck with
everything, maybe have those
meds adjusted.
confrontation
the one shoe.
black. my favorite
that can be worn with
anything,
with laces
lies under the bed,
still in tact.
where the other one is
I have no idea.
I ask the dog
who is curled on a pillow
on the bed,
and see a remnant
of leather
hanging from his mouth.
he shrugs
with that what look.
I have no idea what
you're talking about
his calm body language says.
I can't have
a conversation
with him about
these things, i'm not
good with confrontation,
so I throw
him the other shoe
too.
black. my favorite
that can be worn with
anything,
with laces
lies under the bed,
still in tact.
where the other one is
I have no idea.
I ask the dog
who is curled on a pillow
on the bed,
and see a remnant
of leather
hanging from his mouth.
he shrugs
with that what look.
I have no idea what
you're talking about
his calm body language says.
I can't have
a conversation
with him about
these things, i'm not
good with confrontation,
so I throw
him the other shoe
too.
confrontation
the one shoe.
black. my favorite
that can be worn with
anything,
with laces
lies under the bed,
still in tact.
where the other one is
I have no idea.
I ask the dog
who is curled on a pillow
on the bed,
and see a remnant
of leather
hanging from his mouth.
he shrugs
with that what look.
I have no idea what
you're talking about
his calm body language says.
I can't have
a conversation
with him about
these things, i'm not
good with confrontation,
so I throw
him the other shoe
too.
black. my favorite
that can be worn with
anything,
with laces
lies under the bed,
still in tact.
where the other one is
I have no idea.
I ask the dog
who is curled on a pillow
on the bed,
and see a remnant
of leather
hanging from his mouth.
he shrugs
with that what look.
I have no idea what
you're talking about
his calm body language says.
I can't have
a conversation
with him about
these things, i'm not
good with confrontation,
so I throw
him the other shoe
too.
her new soul mate
I think I found my soul mate
again,
betty tells
me over cocktails
and calamari
at the local pub.
oh, do tell, I say to her,
dipping
a fried rubbery fish like
gasket
into a bowl of hot
sauce.
no kids, no ex wives.
he has a trust fund,
and lives on a boat.
wow.
terrific, I tell her
licking the tips
of my fingers
then guzzling my drink.
what else?
well. he's a little bit
older than me.
by how much.
thirty years.
and.
and what?
and he has a serious heart
condition.
he could go at any
time.
show me the ring, I say
to her looking across
the table.
it's a diamond the size
of a small
ice cube. I blink my eyes,
shaking my head.
wowza.
we have a winner. I say,
then we clink glasses.
again,
betty tells
me over cocktails
and calamari
at the local pub.
oh, do tell, I say to her,
dipping
a fried rubbery fish like
gasket
into a bowl of hot
sauce.
no kids, no ex wives.
he has a trust fund,
and lives on a boat.
wow.
terrific, I tell her
licking the tips
of my fingers
then guzzling my drink.
what else?
well. he's a little bit
older than me.
by how much.
thirty years.
and.
and what?
and he has a serious heart
condition.
he could go at any
time.
show me the ring, I say
to her looking across
the table.
it's a diamond the size
of a small
ice cube. I blink my eyes,
shaking my head.
wowza.
we have a winner. I say,
then we clink glasses.
the darkness
he can hardly see
but
he still knows where the black
olives
are on the shelf,
feeling his way around,
counting steps up
aisle six,
just down from the dill
pickles.
the pork chops too,
not far
from fish and chicken,
the frozen foods, his hand
reaching into
the cold bin
to feel the weight,
if the bone is in.
we adapt
to near blindness
as we do to all
darkness that comes
in time.
but
he still knows where the black
olives
are on the shelf,
feeling his way around,
counting steps up
aisle six,
just down from the dill
pickles.
the pork chops too,
not far
from fish and chicken,
the frozen foods, his hand
reaching into
the cold bin
to feel the weight,
if the bone is in.
we adapt
to near blindness
as we do to all
darkness that comes
in time.
behind the wheel
is the way
some people drive a reflection on
where they
are in a spiritual
sense,
is it an indication
of distress
or chaos in their lives.
I think so.
the speed
and recklessness, the impatience,
the anger
displayed
continues when they
exit
from behind the wheel,
as it does
before the key turns.
some people drive a reflection on
where they
are in a spiritual
sense,
is it an indication
of distress
or chaos in their lives.
I think so.
the speed
and recklessness, the impatience,
the anger
displayed
continues when they
exit
from behind the wheel,
as it does
before the key turns.
Monday, July 4, 2016
holding a baby
the person holding the baby
in the photograph
is mildly happy,
a wide grimace showing teeth
stained with
lipstick.
an aunt perhaps,
or friend who stopped by
to see the small child,
finally months
after the well announced birth.
her hands are wrapped
around the baby's mid section,
holding it away,
as if he or she
might be wet,
or worse.
I suspect a boy, the clue
being the blue
socks
and bow tie.
a small suit that
predicts
what might lie ahead
and a look of annoyance
on his round face.
in the photograph
is mildly happy,
a wide grimace showing teeth
stained with
lipstick.
an aunt perhaps,
or friend who stopped by
to see the small child,
finally months
after the well announced birth.
her hands are wrapped
around the baby's mid section,
holding it away,
as if he or she
might be wet,
or worse.
I suspect a boy, the clue
being the blue
socks
and bow tie.
a small suit that
predicts
what might lie ahead
and a look of annoyance
on his round face.
holding a baby
the person holding the baby
in the photograph
is mildly happy,
a wide grimace showing teeth
stained with
lipstick.
an aunt perhaps,
or friend who stopped by
to see the small child,
finally months
after the well announced birth.
her hands are wrapped
around the baby's mid section,
holding it away,
as if he or she
might be wet,
or worse.
I suspect a boy, the clue
being the blue
socks
and bow tie.
a small suit that
predicts
what might lie ahead
and a look of annoyance
on his round face.
in the photograph
is mildly happy,
a wide grimace showing teeth
stained with
lipstick.
an aunt perhaps,
or friend who stopped by
to see the small child,
finally months
after the well announced birth.
her hands are wrapped
around the baby's mid section,
holding it away,
as if he or she
might be wet,
or worse.
I suspect a boy, the clue
being the blue
socks
and bow tie.
a small suit that
predicts
what might lie ahead
and a look of annoyance
on his round face.
a sinkable world
a sinkable world
of dying things.
rebirth is harder than it looks.
see the ancient
pyramids
as an example,
full of things they
believe they'll need
in the next world.
don't bring me back as a dog,
or fish,
a cricket,
or bird on a wire.
let's call it a day
with this one life.
of dying things.
rebirth is harder than it looks.
see the ancient
pyramids
as an example,
full of things they
believe they'll need
in the next world.
don't bring me back as a dog,
or fish,
a cricket,
or bird on a wire.
let's call it a day
with this one life.
a sinkable world
a sinkable world
of dying things.
rebirth is harder than it looks.
see the ancient
pyramids
as an example,
full of things they
believe they'll need
in the next world.
don't bring me back as a dog,
or fish,
a cricket,
or bird on a wire.
let's call it a day
with this one life.
of dying things.
rebirth is harder than it looks.
see the ancient
pyramids
as an example,
full of things they
believe they'll need
in the next world.
don't bring me back as a dog,
or fish,
a cricket,
or bird on a wire.
let's call it a day
with this one life.
the soft bed
hand in hand
new lovers
walk towards the river,
discussing
nothing
of great importance.
those talks will come
in time, but for now it's
just this.
complements and kisses,
tender touches,
a soft bed
to build upon.
new lovers
walk towards the river,
discussing
nothing
of great importance.
those talks will come
in time, but for now it's
just this.
complements and kisses,
tender touches,
a soft bed
to build upon.
the soft bed
hand in hand
new lovers
walk towards the river,
discussing
nothing
of great importance.
those talks will come
in time, but for now it's
just this.
complements and kisses,
tender touches,
a soft bed
to build upon.
new lovers
walk towards the river,
discussing
nothing
of great importance.
those talks will come
in time, but for now it's
just this.
complements and kisses,
tender touches,
a soft bed
to build upon.
rescuing the past
each year I see
the woman who digs
walking
up king street in her blue dress,
less blue
with time.
her boots, still black,
but muddied,
a heavy sack
upon her shoulder.
she's bent more
now than ever, but plodding
along towards
the next yard
to unearth a shard of glass,
a cup,
a broken saucer,
each thrown away in another
century as
trash. on her knees she'll
unbury
with brush and file,
with a shovel spoon
and a keen eye for rescuing
what used to be,
the past.
the woman who digs
walking
up king street in her blue dress,
less blue
with time.
her boots, still black,
but muddied,
a heavy sack
upon her shoulder.
she's bent more
now than ever, but plodding
along towards
the next yard
to unearth a shard of glass,
a cup,
a broken saucer,
each thrown away in another
century as
trash. on her knees she'll
unbury
with brush and file,
with a shovel spoon
and a keen eye for rescuing
what used to be,
the past.
rescuing the past
each year I see
the woman who digs
walking
up king street in her blue dress,
less blue
with time.
her boots, still black,
but muddied,
a heavy sack
upon her shoulder.
she's bent more
now than ever, but plodding
along towards
the next yard
to unearth a shard of glass,
a cup,
a broken saucer,
each thrown away in another
century as
trash. on her knees she'll
unbury
with brush and file,
with a shovel spoon
and a keen eye for rescuing
what used to be,
the past.
the woman who digs
walking
up king street in her blue dress,
less blue
with time.
her boots, still black,
but muddied,
a heavy sack
upon her shoulder.
she's bent more
now than ever, but plodding
along towards
the next yard
to unearth a shard of glass,
a cup,
a broken saucer,
each thrown away in another
century as
trash. on her knees she'll
unbury
with brush and file,
with a shovel spoon
and a keen eye for rescuing
what used to be,
the past.
the candle
the candle, solid
and white,
a hint of false
vanilla,
burns
to one side. filling the dish
with wax.
there is an unevenness
to the burn,
despite
being set flat
upon the table.
no wind
moves the flame.
just a steady hot drip
until a side
is gone.
it was a mistake
to light it in the first
place
where it rested
for so long,
some loves
are best left alone.
and white,
a hint of false
vanilla,
burns
to one side. filling the dish
with wax.
there is an unevenness
to the burn,
despite
being set flat
upon the table.
no wind
moves the flame.
just a steady hot drip
until a side
is gone.
it was a mistake
to light it in the first
place
where it rested
for so long,
some loves
are best left alone.
the slow rain
the slow rain
falls
heavy on the trees.
fills
the sleeve of a stream
tinted
green.
we can wile away this day
with nothing.
just rain,
the windows open,
a long stretch of hours
before us.
put some van Morrison on,
his sweet
sadness will put
a bow on it.
falls
heavy on the trees.
fills
the sleeve of a stream
tinted
green.
we can wile away this day
with nothing.
just rain,
the windows open,
a long stretch of hours
before us.
put some van Morrison on,
his sweet
sadness will put
a bow on it.
the slow rain
the slow rain
falls
heavy on the trees.
fills
the sleeve of a stream
tinted
green.
we can wile away this day
with nothing.
just rain,
the windows open,
a long stretch of hours
before us.
put some van Morrison on,
his sweet
sadness will put
a bow on it.
falls
heavy on the trees.
fills
the sleeve of a stream
tinted
green.
we can wile away this day
with nothing.
just rain,
the windows open,
a long stretch of hours
before us.
put some van Morrison on,
his sweet
sadness will put
a bow on it.
your finger is over there
I think one of
your fingers is over
there, under the grille,
I tell the man wearing
the red white
and blue flag underpants
after he
lights
a cherry bomb
that went off in his hand.
grab some ice
and your finger
and go over to the tent
I tell him.
not the hot dog tent,
the other one with the red cross
on the top.
they're sewing fingers
and thumbs back
over there.
he pours some jack daniels
onto the bleeding
wound,
and says, thanks man,
happy fourth.
go USA.
your fingers is over
there, under the grille,
I tell the man wearing
the red white
and blue flag underpants
after he
lights
a cherry bomb
that went off in his hand.
grab some ice
and your finger
and go over to the tent
I tell him.
not the hot dog tent,
the other one with the red cross
on the top.
they're sewing fingers
and thumbs back
over there.
he pours some jack daniels
onto the bleeding
wound,
and says, thanks man,
happy fourth.
go USA.
your finger is over there
I think one of
your fingers is over
there, under the grille,
I tell the man wearing
the red white
and blue flag underpants
after he
lights
a cherry bomb
that went off in his hand.
grab some ice
and your finger
and go over to the tent
I tell him.
not the hot dog tent,
the other one with the red cross
on the top.
they're sewing fingers
and thumbs back
over there.
he pours some jack daniels
onto the bleeding
wound,
and says, thanks man,
happy fourth.
go USA.
your fingers is over
there, under the grille,
I tell the man wearing
the red white
and blue flag underpants
after he
lights
a cherry bomb
that went off in his hand.
grab some ice
and your finger
and go over to the tent
I tell him.
not the hot dog tent,
the other one with the red cross
on the top.
they're sewing fingers
and thumbs back
over there.
he pours some jack daniels
onto the bleeding
wound,
and says, thanks man,
happy fourth.
go USA.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
the human torch
one year
at the carnival up the road
where
the shopping mall
used to be
they had a fireworks display.
we sat on the hill,
my son and I,
eating cotton
candy
and watched.
the small man who lit the fuses
ran to each rocket
with his lighter,
bent over,
his long
hair tied back into
a pony tail.
at some point he caught
fire,
but kept running to each
new rocket
sending it swirling into
the air
where it exploded with a loud
boom
and a spray of flowered sparks.
finally,
people from the crowd
knocked the man
to the ground
and rolled him in blankets
until the fire
was put out.
the ambulance came and there
was a quiet murmur
throughout the crowd.
my son turned to me
as they took the burned man
away and said,
I guess that's it for this year,
dad.
at the carnival up the road
where
the shopping mall
used to be
they had a fireworks display.
we sat on the hill,
my son and I,
eating cotton
candy
and watched.
the small man who lit the fuses
ran to each rocket
with his lighter,
bent over,
his long
hair tied back into
a pony tail.
at some point he caught
fire,
but kept running to each
new rocket
sending it swirling into
the air
where it exploded with a loud
boom
and a spray of flowered sparks.
finally,
people from the crowd
knocked the man
to the ground
and rolled him in blankets
until the fire
was put out.
the ambulance came and there
was a quiet murmur
throughout the crowd.
my son turned to me
as they took the burned man
away and said,
I guess that's it for this year,
dad.
after seeing heaven
they bring
the heart back to life
by
thumping
on his chest,
breathing air into his
lungs,
they zap him
with electricity,
say a prayer,
stand back
and wait.
finally his eyes open
and asks,
what did you do that for?
the heart back to life
by
thumping
on his chest,
breathing air into his
lungs,
they zap him
with electricity,
say a prayer,
stand back
and wait.
finally his eyes open
and asks,
what did you do that for?
after seeing heaven
they bring
the heart back to life
by
thumping
on his chest,
breathing air into his
lungs,
they zap him
with electricity,
say a prayer,
stand back
and wait.
finally his eyes open
and asks,
what did you do that for?
the heart back to life
by
thumping
on his chest,
breathing air into his
lungs,
they zap him
with electricity,
say a prayer,
stand back
and wait.
finally his eyes open
and asks,
what did you do that for?
namaste
rarely did she use
her yoga meditations while driving
home from class,
still in her yoga pants
and smelling
of incense,
instead
she floored the pedal
and ran every
yellow light as it turned
red.
she zig zagged
across the white lines,
the yellow lines,
the dotted lines,
trying hard
to get ahead.
sometimes she cursed
the slower cars, the pedestrians
with their casual gait.
she waved a stiff finger
at them while
speeding by, but always
ending a tirade with
Namaste.
her yoga meditations while driving
home from class,
still in her yoga pants
and smelling
of incense,
instead
she floored the pedal
and ran every
yellow light as it turned
red.
she zig zagged
across the white lines,
the yellow lines,
the dotted lines,
trying hard
to get ahead.
sometimes she cursed
the slower cars, the pedestrians
with their casual gait.
she waved a stiff finger
at them while
speeding by, but always
ending a tirade with
Namaste.
namaste
rarely did she use
her yoga meditations while driving
home from class,
still in her yoga pants
and smelling
of incense,
instead
she floored the pedal
and ran every
yellow light as it turned
red.
she zig zagged
across the white lines,
the yellow lines,
the dotted lines,
trying hard
to get ahead.
sometimes she cursed
the slower cars, the pedestrians
with their casual gait.
she waved a stiff finger
at them while
speeding by, but always
ending a tirade with
Namaste.
her yoga meditations while driving
home from class,
still in her yoga pants
and smelling
of incense,
instead
she floored the pedal
and ran every
yellow light as it turned
red.
she zig zagged
across the white lines,
the yellow lines,
the dotted lines,
trying hard
to get ahead.
sometimes she cursed
the slower cars, the pedestrians
with their casual gait.
she waved a stiff finger
at them while
speeding by, but always
ending a tirade with
Namaste.
the new religion
she holds up two
luscious red tomatoes, fat
and juicy, right of the vine,
you can smell
that real tomato smell
when she dips one towards
your nose at the farmers market.
she's an evangelist for
organic fruit and vegetables,
standing on a soap box
preaching soil and water,
seeds and love.
get down on your knees
brothers and sisters and dig the earth.
come to the church of organic
farming. throw down your chemicals,
your sprays, your anti biotics.
sin no more with your
hybrid corn, your altered
grains, your fattened cows
and chickens.
let those chickens roam free
my troubled friends.
for just five dollars, one
five dollar bill
you too can taste the salvation
of a home grown
hot house tomato. step right up
and taste the glory,
let the juices dribble down your chins.
we'll wait for you as you rise
from your seats and come forward.
don't be shy. sin no more with
your store bought demonic produce.
can I get an amen?
cash, credit or checks are welcome.
luscious red tomatoes, fat
and juicy, right of the vine,
you can smell
that real tomato smell
when she dips one towards
your nose at the farmers market.
she's an evangelist for
organic fruit and vegetables,
standing on a soap box
preaching soil and water,
seeds and love.
get down on your knees
brothers and sisters and dig the earth.
come to the church of organic
farming. throw down your chemicals,
your sprays, your anti biotics.
sin no more with your
hybrid corn, your altered
grains, your fattened cows
and chickens.
let those chickens roam free
my troubled friends.
for just five dollars, one
five dollar bill
you too can taste the salvation
of a home grown
hot house tomato. step right up
and taste the glory,
let the juices dribble down your chins.
we'll wait for you as you rise
from your seats and come forward.
don't be shy. sin no more with
your store bought demonic produce.
can I get an amen?
cash, credit or checks are welcome.
the art of giving
sometimes i
give a dollar or two, even
a five
to the man or woman
standing on
the corner with a sign
saying god bless,
veteran,
homeless and bereft.
rarely does it say bereft,
but it rhymed
so i'm using that word.
occasionally
they are limping, or
feigning a limp,
but neatly clothed,
and well coiffed.
again, coiffed is used here
only because
it's the first word
that came into my mind.
so I give
a dollar or two, but not
always.
sometimes i'm feeling a
little perturbed
and silently say get a job
you bum. keeping the windows
rolled up
while I drink my
five dollar cup of coffee.
life is hard for everyone
I think,
then my catholic guilt
kicks in
and i make a vow
to give
to the next one.
give a dollar or two, even
a five
to the man or woman
standing on
the corner with a sign
saying god bless,
veteran,
homeless and bereft.
rarely does it say bereft,
but it rhymed
so i'm using that word.
occasionally
they are limping, or
feigning a limp,
but neatly clothed,
and well coiffed.
again, coiffed is used here
only because
it's the first word
that came into my mind.
so I give
a dollar or two, but not
always.
sometimes i'm feeling a
little perturbed
and silently say get a job
you bum. keeping the windows
rolled up
while I drink my
five dollar cup of coffee.
life is hard for everyone
I think,
then my catholic guilt
kicks in
and i make a vow
to give
to the next one.
the cleopatra sister
don't use up
all the hot water I yelled
to my sister
as she
entered the bathroom
on the second
floor
with towels and magazines,
a drink,
the phone, cord
under the door.
it was the only bathroom
in the house
and once she got in there,
there was
no getting her
out.
don't worry about it, she'd
yell back,
locking the door
behind her.
go use the hose in the back yard,
she'd say,
tossing out a bar of
soap, or just wait your turn.
sometimes
the other brothers
and sisters would
come up
the stairs
and see you sitting
there on the top step.
she's in there,
i'd say.
it's going to be a while.
all the hot water I yelled
to my sister
as she
entered the bathroom
on the second
floor
with towels and magazines,
a drink,
the phone, cord
under the door.
it was the only bathroom
in the house
and once she got in there,
there was
no getting her
out.
don't worry about it, she'd
yell back,
locking the door
behind her.
go use the hose in the back yard,
she'd say,
tossing out a bar of
soap, or just wait your turn.
sometimes
the other brothers
and sisters would
come up
the stairs
and see you sitting
there on the top step.
she's in there,
i'd say.
it's going to be a while.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
party prep
bring a pie
he tells me on the phone.
cherry
or blueberry. one from the berry family.
vanilla ice cream too.
what else, I ask him.
some fireworks.
whatever you like. sparklers,
roman candles.
rockets.
we have fire crackers
and cherry bombs,
so don't bring those.
oh, and maybe a watermelon,
with seeds,
we might have a seed
spitting contest
later.
we have about a hundred or so
hot dogs,
beef franks.
and mustard, so that's covered.
one more thing.
a keg of beer.
better make it two kegs.
you know how people like
to drink. so that's it,
see you at one.
i'm filling the pool up now.
he tells me on the phone.
cherry
or blueberry. one from the berry family.
vanilla ice cream too.
what else, I ask him.
some fireworks.
whatever you like. sparklers,
roman candles.
rockets.
we have fire crackers
and cherry bombs,
so don't bring those.
oh, and maybe a watermelon,
with seeds,
we might have a seed
spitting contest
later.
we have about a hundred or so
hot dogs,
beef franks.
and mustard, so that's covered.
one more thing.
a keg of beer.
better make it two kegs.
you know how people like
to drink. so that's it,
see you at one.
i'm filling the pool up now.
the wall between us
envy has
never crossed my mind.
I have
enough and need very
little to live
and be happy on.
what you have is yours,
what I have
is mine.
I covet nothing
that you possess.
this fence, this wall
between us
is just for show.
no need to cross the line.
never crossed my mind.
I have
enough and need very
little to live
and be happy on.
what you have is yours,
what I have
is mine.
I covet nothing
that you possess.
this fence, this wall
between us
is just for show.
no need to cross the line.
the wall between us
envy has
never crossed my mind.
I have
enough and need very
little to live
and be happy on.
what you have is yours,
what I have
is mine.
I covet nothing
that you possess.
this fence, this wall
between us
is just for show.
no need to cross the line.
never crossed my mind.
I have
enough and need very
little to live
and be happy on.
what you have is yours,
what I have
is mine.
I covet nothing
that you possess.
this fence, this wall
between us
is just for show.
no need to cross the line.
storming the castle
we're going to storm the castle
my friend
Octavius says to me one morning
as he tightens up his
leather sandals
and lights a torch with
a bic lighter.
we're tired of low wages
and stale bread,
taxes. my thatched hut
is crawling with vermin.
my cable bill is killing me.
come on man, grab a torch
and your good axe and let's go.
what about coffee, did you
have coffee yet?
I was thinking of taking a walk
after I get coffee and a multi-grain
bagel. maybe down
by the lake.
no, we need everyone.
we've had it with this king.
you can get coffee later,
in fact i'll buy you lunch,
if we don't die when they pour
cauldrons of boiling oil
off the towers like they did
last year.
what about the archers?
I still have scars all over
me from the last time
we tried this.
I have Neosporin. put on your
thick sweatshirt that you got
in Nantucket last summer.
no arrows can get through that,
unless of course they use those
pesky flaming arrows.
come on.
okay, okay...let me sharpen my
axe. I just need a quick bowl
of cereal and to walk the dog.
go on ahead, i'll be there. promise.
front door where the moat is?
yup. okay. see you in a few.
my friend
Octavius says to me one morning
as he tightens up his
leather sandals
and lights a torch with
a bic lighter.
we're tired of low wages
and stale bread,
taxes. my thatched hut
is crawling with vermin.
my cable bill is killing me.
come on man, grab a torch
and your good axe and let's go.
what about coffee, did you
have coffee yet?
I was thinking of taking a walk
after I get coffee and a multi-grain
bagel. maybe down
by the lake.
no, we need everyone.
we've had it with this king.
you can get coffee later,
in fact i'll buy you lunch,
if we don't die when they pour
cauldrons of boiling oil
off the towers like they did
last year.
what about the archers?
I still have scars all over
me from the last time
we tried this.
I have Neosporin. put on your
thick sweatshirt that you got
in Nantucket last summer.
no arrows can get through that,
unless of course they use those
pesky flaming arrows.
come on.
okay, okay...let me sharpen my
axe. I just need a quick bowl
of cereal and to walk the dog.
go on ahead, i'll be there. promise.
front door where the moat is?
yup. okay. see you in a few.
storming the castle
we're going to storm the castle
my friend
Octavius says to me one morning
as he tightens up his
leather sandals
and lights a torch with
a bic lighter.
we're tired of low wages
and stale bread,
taxes. my thatched hut
is crawling with vermin.
my cable bill is killing me.
come on man, grab a torch
and your good axe and let's go.
what about coffee, did you
have coffee yet?
I was thinking of taking a walk
after I get coffee and a multi-grain
bagel. maybe down
by the lake.
no, we need everyone.
we've had it with this king.
you can get coffee later,
in fact i'll buy you lunch,
if we don't die when they pour
cauldrons of boiling oil
off the towers like they did
last year.
what about the archers?
I still have scars all over
me from the last time
we tried this.
I have Neosporin. put on your
thick sweatshirt that you got
in Nantucket last summer.
no arrows can get through that,
unless of course they use those
pesky flaming arrows.
come on.
okay, okay...let me sharpen my
axe. I just need a quick bowl
of cereal and to walk the dog.
go on ahead, i'll be there. promise.
front door where the moat is?
yup. okay. see you in a few.
my friend
Octavius says to me one morning
as he tightens up his
leather sandals
and lights a torch with
a bic lighter.
we're tired of low wages
and stale bread,
taxes. my thatched hut
is crawling with vermin.
my cable bill is killing me.
come on man, grab a torch
and your good axe and let's go.
what about coffee, did you
have coffee yet?
I was thinking of taking a walk
after I get coffee and a multi-grain
bagel. maybe down
by the lake.
no, we need everyone.
we've had it with this king.
you can get coffee later,
in fact i'll buy you lunch,
if we don't die when they pour
cauldrons of boiling oil
off the towers like they did
last year.
what about the archers?
I still have scars all over
me from the last time
we tried this.
I have Neosporin. put on your
thick sweatshirt that you got
in Nantucket last summer.
no arrows can get through that,
unless of course they use those
pesky flaming arrows.
come on.
okay, okay...let me sharpen my
axe. I just need a quick bowl
of cereal and to walk the dog.
go on ahead, i'll be there. promise.
front door where the moat is?
yup. okay. see you in a few.
Friday, July 1, 2016
she might be dead
I suspect
that the lady down the street,
four doors
down
from me, may have passed on
to the next life.
or perhaps
ran out of energy
or ink
with which to post a note
on my door
telling me not to put
my trash out
early.
I haven't seen her
blue car
in weeks, the one with
the coexist bumper sticker.
i've seen burly workmen
with white
shirts and bald heads
coming and going
from her house.
I can't say that I miss her,
but I wish her all
the best wherever she might
be and not
burdened by
the likes of my early trash
and me.
that the lady down the street,
four doors
down
from me, may have passed on
to the next life.
or perhaps
ran out of energy
or ink
with which to post a note
on my door
telling me not to put
my trash out
early.
I haven't seen her
blue car
in weeks, the one with
the coexist bumper sticker.
i've seen burly workmen
with white
shirts and bald heads
coming and going
from her house.
I can't say that I miss her,
but I wish her all
the best wherever she might
be and not
burdened by
the likes of my early trash
and me.
good books and bad
some books, you savor,
some you throw across the room
and say
I can't read this junk.
others hold
the door from swinging shut,
or balance
a table
on the tilted floor,
a thin
copy of a poet you don't like.
some books
are within reach, ready
to be read more.
others
collect dust, put either
high or low,
the hardest to reach.
your favorites are kept
nearby,
at arms length
in a moments notice.
those books you savor.
some you throw across the room
and say
I can't read this junk.
others hold
the door from swinging shut,
or balance
a table
on the tilted floor,
a thin
copy of a poet you don't like.
some books
are within reach, ready
to be read more.
others
collect dust, put either
high or low,
the hardest to reach.
your favorites are kept
nearby,
at arms length
in a moments notice.
those books you savor.
rare days
it was a mystery coming
home from
school as a kid.
what lay ahead,
unknown.
the door never being locked,
sometimes
not a soul around,
the dog
off his leash
on the porch.
no notes. no messages
left
to be found
explaining
where everyone had gone,
who knew.
but you could push a chair
up to the counter,
climb
up for a dish
or cup.
fill it with milk.
find the bread and construct
a sandwich
with whatever
you could find.
you'd turn on the tv,
and sit
back,
a calm in the storm,
your future
being planned and practiced,
honed.
home from
school as a kid.
what lay ahead,
unknown.
the door never being locked,
sometimes
not a soul around,
the dog
off his leash
on the porch.
no notes. no messages
left
to be found
explaining
where everyone had gone,
who knew.
but you could push a chair
up to the counter,
climb
up for a dish
or cup.
fill it with milk.
find the bread and construct
a sandwich
with whatever
you could find.
you'd turn on the tv,
and sit
back,
a calm in the storm,
your future
being planned and practiced,
honed.
rare days
it was a mystery coming
home from
school as a kid.
what lay ahead,
unknown.
the door never being locked,
sometimes
not a soul around,
the dog
off his leash
on the porch.
no notes. no messages
left
to be found
explaining
where everyone had gone,
who knew.
but you could push a chair
up to the counter,
climb
up for a dish
or cup.
fill it with milk.
find the bread and construct
a sandwich
with whatever
you could find.
you'd turn on the tv,
and sit
back,
a calm in the storm,
your future
being planned and practiced,
honed.
home from
school as a kid.
what lay ahead,
unknown.
the door never being locked,
sometimes
not a soul around,
the dog
off his leash
on the porch.
no notes. no messages
left
to be found
explaining
where everyone had gone,
who knew.
but you could push a chair
up to the counter,
climb
up for a dish
or cup.
fill it with milk.
find the bread and construct
a sandwich
with whatever
you could find.
you'd turn on the tv,
and sit
back,
a calm in the storm,
your future
being planned and practiced,
honed.
the office lunch
you decide to take
the office out to lunch after
a grueling
day.
this means you pull up
to a drive
through window
and order a number four,
crispy with a large
drink.
you pull over and let
the air conditioning run,
as you eat,
discussing in your
mind
the progress of the year,
what's next.
what jobs need to be done.
the office wants to discuss
a raise,
a bonus,
retirement, but you'll have
none of it,
telling them
to be happy with the day
and to enjoy
the lunch.
the office out to lunch after
a grueling
day.
this means you pull up
to a drive
through window
and order a number four,
crispy with a large
drink.
you pull over and let
the air conditioning run,
as you eat,
discussing in your
mind
the progress of the year,
what's next.
what jobs need to be done.
the office wants to discuss
a raise,
a bonus,
retirement, but you'll have
none of it,
telling them
to be happy with the day
and to enjoy
the lunch.
the office lunch
you decide to take
the office out to lunch after
a grueling
day.
this means you pull up
to a drive
through window
and order a number four,
crispy with a large
drink.
you pull over and let
the air conditioning run,
as you eat,
discussing in your
mind
the progress of the year,
what's next.
what jobs need to be done.
the office wants to discuss
a raise,
a bonus,
retirement, but you'll have
none of it,
telling them
to be happy with the day
and to enjoy
the lunch.
the office out to lunch after
a grueling
day.
this means you pull up
to a drive
through window
and order a number four,
crispy with a large
drink.
you pull over and let
the air conditioning run,
as you eat,
discussing in your
mind
the progress of the year,
what's next.
what jobs need to be done.
the office wants to discuss
a raise,
a bonus,
retirement, but you'll have
none of it,
telling them
to be happy with the day
and to enjoy
the lunch.
where to
they don't know,
not everything, scientists,
theories persist, then
change
with a new found shard
of bone,
or orb
beyond the sun.
it's a guessing game.
as they wrestle
with the priests,
each with
his own claim as to why
or how
we came to be
and where we go,
when we leave.
not everything, scientists,
theories persist, then
change
with a new found shard
of bone,
or orb
beyond the sun.
it's a guessing game.
as they wrestle
with the priests,
each with
his own claim as to why
or how
we came to be
and where we go,
when we leave.
the killing
the rabid dog
limped onto the street,
a froth upon his jowls,
sending us
to our porches
while our mothers screamed.
the fathers came out
with their guns.
how armed
the neighborhood was
with rifles
and snub nose 38's,
revolvers
and shotguns.
some were pulled from
waistbands, or holsters,
taking a break
from waxing their long
cars in the sun,
while others
dug into the closet
to spin bullets
into the chambers.
the men seemed anxious
to shoot something,
finally.
limped onto the street,
a froth upon his jowls,
sending us
to our porches
while our mothers screamed.
the fathers came out
with their guns.
how armed
the neighborhood was
with rifles
and snub nose 38's,
revolvers
and shotguns.
some were pulled from
waistbands, or holsters,
taking a break
from waxing their long
cars in the sun,
while others
dug into the closet
to spin bullets
into the chambers.
the men seemed anxious
to shoot something,
finally.
the killing
the rabid dog
limped onto the street,
a froth upon his jowls,
sending us
to our porches
while our mothers screamed.
the fathers came out
with their guns.
how armed
the neighborhood was
with rifles
and snub nose 38's,
revolvers
and shotguns.
some were pulled from
waistbands, or holsters,
taking a break
from waxing their long
cars in the sun,
while others
dug into the closet
to spin bullets
into the chambers.
the men seemed anxious
to shoot something,
finally.
limped onto the street,
a froth upon his jowls,
sending us
to our porches
while our mothers screamed.
the fathers came out
with their guns.
how armed
the neighborhood was
with rifles
and snub nose 38's,
revolvers
and shotguns.
some were pulled from
waistbands, or holsters,
taking a break
from waxing their long
cars in the sun,
while others
dug into the closet
to spin bullets
into the chambers.
the men seemed anxious
to shoot something,
finally.
captured beauty
what is it about beauty
that we run,
even as a child, with a jar
to capture
a firefly in the summer
night
as it floats mysteriously
slow enough
to be captured.
even beauty wants
to be caught.
the framed art,
the gem under glass,
the image coaxed into
a camera.
a poem on a page.
the wedding dress.
that we run,
even as a child, with a jar
to capture
a firefly in the summer
night
as it floats mysteriously
slow enough
to be captured.
even beauty wants
to be caught.
the framed art,
the gem under glass,
the image coaxed into
a camera.
a poem on a page.
the wedding dress.
captured beauty
what is it about beauty
that we run,
even as a child, with a jar
to capture
a firefly in the summer
night
as it floats mysteriously
slow enough
to be captured.
even beauty wants
to be caught.
the framed art,
the gem under glass,
the image coaxed into
a camera.
a poem on a page.
the wedding dress.
that we run,
even as a child, with a jar
to capture
a firefly in the summer
night
as it floats mysteriously
slow enough
to be captured.
even beauty wants
to be caught.
the framed art,
the gem under glass,
the image coaxed into
a camera.
a poem on a page.
the wedding dress.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
painting by numbers
my grandmother
when she would visit us
from boston,
while my mother lay in a hospital
having another baby,
would buy us paint by numbers
kits
to keeps us quiet.
geese flying
over swamps, churches,
that sort of thing.
oil paints
with thinners
and linseed oils,
brushes, rags.
it's a wonder we didn't
set the house on
fire as she hung
over our work with a
Winston
hanging from her lips.
I hate those kennedys
she always managed to
fit into a conversation,
which wasn't really
a conversation, it was
just her talking,
staring at the tv
and yelling at us to keep
the paint between
the lines.
later, after the paintings
had dried
she would line them up
on a window sill
to see who had done
the best job, giving that child,
my older brother
who had my father's name,
a dollar and the rest
of us nothing.
when she would visit us
from boston,
while my mother lay in a hospital
having another baby,
would buy us paint by numbers
kits
to keeps us quiet.
geese flying
over swamps, churches,
that sort of thing.
oil paints
with thinners
and linseed oils,
brushes, rags.
it's a wonder we didn't
set the house on
fire as she hung
over our work with a
Winston
hanging from her lips.
I hate those kennedys
she always managed to
fit into a conversation,
which wasn't really
a conversation, it was
just her talking,
staring at the tv
and yelling at us to keep
the paint between
the lines.
later, after the paintings
had dried
she would line them up
on a window sill
to see who had done
the best job, giving that child,
my older brother
who had my father's name,
a dollar and the rest
of us nothing.
i don't think she really cares about me
I wonder if my new
doctor
really cares about me.
she doesn't call or email,
or text.
nothing.
I haven't received a notice
to have
some mid life
testing done
in a month. no bags
to put my
personal
internal belongings into
and send
to the lab.
I could be dead for a week
and she wouldn't
know.
maybe I should call
her and tell her i'm okay
except for the allergy
thing, which
she has no clue whatsoever
with which
to solve.
doctor
really cares about me.
she doesn't call or email,
or text.
nothing.
I haven't received a notice
to have
some mid life
testing done
in a month. no bags
to put my
personal
internal belongings into
and send
to the lab.
I could be dead for a week
and she wouldn't
know.
maybe I should call
her and tell her i'm okay
except for the allergy
thing, which
she has no clue whatsoever
with which
to solve.
that's enough
I have no bling
to speak of. as a child
I had rings
and watches, all cheap
from cracker jack
boxes, even a chain,
which was really a dog
collar,
in case
a gang fight
broke out
between the ruffians
in hillcrest heights.
never used,
nor was the pocket knife,
rusted closed,
only needed
to cut fishing line
when a turtle
or eel
took the bait, or to carve
my initials
into a picnic table.
the only shiny thing
I have these days is you.
that's enough.
to speak of. as a child
I had rings
and watches, all cheap
from cracker jack
boxes, even a chain,
which was really a dog
collar,
in case
a gang fight
broke out
between the ruffians
in hillcrest heights.
never used,
nor was the pocket knife,
rusted closed,
only needed
to cut fishing line
when a turtle
or eel
took the bait, or to carve
my initials
into a picnic table.
the only shiny thing
I have these days is you.
that's enough.
the left hand
your left is weaker
than
your right hand.
which holds true
for the arm when
throwing
a ball. how awkward
and untaught.
it's just the way it is.
being pushed
by a parent
settling the spoon
or fork between
your fingers and thumb.
the pencil too
to write or draw
or play an instrument
with the same.
how sad it is for the left
to be
used so little.
holding or catching things
as a last resort.
than
your right hand.
which holds true
for the arm when
throwing
a ball. how awkward
and untaught.
it's just the way it is.
being pushed
by a parent
settling the spoon
or fork between
your fingers and thumb.
the pencil too
to write or draw
or play an instrument
with the same.
how sad it is for the left
to be
used so little.
holding or catching things
as a last resort.
the left hand
your left is weaker
than
your right hand.
which holds true
for the arm when
throwing
a ball. how awkward
and untaught.
it's just the way it is.
being pushed
by a parent
settling the spoon
or fork between
your fingers and thumb.
the pencil too
to write or draw
or play an instrument
with the same.
how sad it is for the left
to be
used so little.
holding or catching things
as a last resort.
than
your right hand.
which holds true
for the arm when
throwing
a ball. how awkward
and untaught.
it's just the way it is.
being pushed
by a parent
settling the spoon
or fork between
your fingers and thumb.
the pencil too
to write or draw
or play an instrument
with the same.
how sad it is for the left
to be
used so little.
holding or catching things
as a last resort.
the white shag rug
she had rug
burns on
her spine, you had them
on your knees.
they took forever to heal
long after
the thrill had
gone and you both met
someone else.
love hurts.
burns on
her spine, you had them
on your knees.
they took forever to heal
long after
the thrill had
gone and you both met
someone else.
love hurts.
what now
it's the first year that my
father
doesn't have a garden.
no tomatoes, or peppers.
no corn, or lettuce
growing in the small patch
of dirt outside his window,
next to the air conditioner
unit.
I can't see he says,
to me. I don't know if
things are ripe. or if
they need water, or what.
it's all blurry.
we both stare out at the
squared patch of unturned
soil. the green wire fence
bent by rabbits,
who also wonder, what now.
father
doesn't have a garden.
no tomatoes, or peppers.
no corn, or lettuce
growing in the small patch
of dirt outside his window,
next to the air conditioner
unit.
I can't see he says,
to me. I don't know if
things are ripe. or if
they need water, or what.
it's all blurry.
we both stare out at the
squared patch of unturned
soil. the green wire fence
bent by rabbits,
who also wonder, what now.
what year was that?
because she has little or no
memory of the past
after ten thousand
bong hits,
I can say anything to her,
make up any story,
saying things like
remember the time
we sky dived into
the grand canyon?
she scratches her head,
as she rolls another joint
and nods, pushing
back her hair, grey at
the roots.
yeah, sure she says.
I remember that. yeah,
that was fun.
what year was that?
memory of the past
after ten thousand
bong hits,
I can say anything to her,
make up any story,
saying things like
remember the time
we sky dived into
the grand canyon?
she scratches her head,
as she rolls another joint
and nods, pushing
back her hair, grey at
the roots.
yeah, sure she says.
I remember that. yeah,
that was fun.
what year was that?
what year was that?
because she has little or no
memory of the past
after ten thousand
bong hits,
I can say anything to her,
make up any story,
saying things like
remember the time
we sky dived into
the grand canyon?
she scratches her head,
as she rolls another joint
and nods, pushing
back her hair, grey at
the roots.
yeah, sure she says.
I remember that. yeah,
that was fun.
what year was that?
memory of the past
after ten thousand
bong hits,
I can say anything to her,
make up any story,
saying things like
remember the time
we sky dived into
the grand canyon?
she scratches her head,
as she rolls another joint
and nods, pushing
back her hair, grey at
the roots.
yeah, sure she says.
I remember that. yeah,
that was fun.
what year was that?
t-bone
I don't eat meat.
or wear fur, or leave
a carbon
foot print
anywhere that I can.
I recycle.
separating the plastic
from the metal,
the paper
from
the glass.
I like fish though,
she says,
moving the lettuce
around on her plate,
pausing, waiting for
me to finish gnawing
on the bone
of my T-bone
steak.
or wear fur, or leave
a carbon
foot print
anywhere that I can.
I recycle.
separating the plastic
from the metal,
the paper
from
the glass.
I like fish though,
she says,
moving the lettuce
around on her plate,
pausing, waiting for
me to finish gnawing
on the bone
of my T-bone
steak.
t-bone
I don't eat meat.
or wear fur, or leave
a carbon
foot print
anywhere that I can.
I recycle.
separating the plastic
from the metal,
the paper
from
the glass.
I like fish though,
she says,
moving the lettuce
around on her plate,
pausing, waiting for
me to finish gnawing
on the bone
of my T-bone
steak.
or wear fur, or leave
a carbon
foot print
anywhere that I can.
I recycle.
separating the plastic
from the metal,
the paper
from
the glass.
I like fish though,
she says,
moving the lettuce
around on her plate,
pausing, waiting for
me to finish gnawing
on the bone
of my T-bone
steak.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
i saw it on tv
we'd like our ten foot ceiling
wallpapered the woman tells me,
hands on her
hips, swiveling on high heels,
pointing
with sharp red nails.
the whole ceiling.
I saw it on a tv show.
two different papers, stripes,
but all meeting
at a point in the middle.
how much?
how much do you have, I tell
her.
wallpapered the woman tells me,
hands on her
hips, swiveling on high heels,
pointing
with sharp red nails.
the whole ceiling.
I saw it on a tv show.
two different papers, stripes,
but all meeting
at a point in the middle.
how much?
how much do you have, I tell
her.
freed from captivity
in or out of jail
makes
no difference to my friend
jake
the snake.
he glides through life
on a beer
coaster.
one beer leading to another
and another
until he wraps
his car
around a pole
or a parked car.
his wrists are calloused
from
handcuffs.
a small pony tail swings
from
the back of his fifty
seven year old head
holding hardly
a single grey hair.
he has no worries.
on bail he goes the fountain
to see his
friends who
hug him and slap his back,
after being
freed
once more.
makes
no difference to my friend
jake
the snake.
he glides through life
on a beer
coaster.
one beer leading to another
and another
until he wraps
his car
around a pole
or a parked car.
his wrists are calloused
from
handcuffs.
a small pony tail swings
from
the back of his fifty
seven year old head
holding hardly
a single grey hair.
he has no worries.
on bail he goes the fountain
to see his
friends who
hug him and slap his back,
after being
freed
once more.
self employed
she flies
all over the country.
taking
her business self along
with her
notepads and tablets,
phones
and laptops.
she's doing things I have
no idea
as to what they are.
she's probably in a meeting
at this very moment,
saying things
that other people will
write down
and take notice.
right now
i'm in a chair with a towel
around me,
wet from
the shower,
drinking instant coffee
and looking out
the window
as a moving truck unloads
a broken futon.
the new neighbors have awful
taste
in furniture.
all over the country.
taking
her business self along
with her
notepads and tablets,
phones
and laptops.
she's doing things I have
no idea
as to what they are.
she's probably in a meeting
at this very moment,
saying things
that other people will
write down
and take notice.
right now
i'm in a chair with a towel
around me,
wet from
the shower,
drinking instant coffee
and looking out
the window
as a moving truck unloads
a broken futon.
the new neighbors have awful
taste
in furniture.
hot donuts
your flattery
has earned you a box of donuts.
here.
they are warm,
still gooey and hot,
boxed before they even
hit the shelf.
I picked out all your favorites,
fancy to plain,
saying to the lady
in pink, behind the wide
counter,
and one of those, and one
of those,
two of those, etc.
the affection is mutual.
enjoy.
has earned you a box of donuts.
here.
they are warm,
still gooey and hot,
boxed before they even
hit the shelf.
I picked out all your favorites,
fancy to plain,
saying to the lady
in pink, behind the wide
counter,
and one of those, and one
of those,
two of those, etc.
the affection is mutual.
enjoy.
hot donuts
your flattery
has earned you a box of donuts.
here.
they are warm,
still gooey and hot,
boxed before they even
hit the shelf.
I picked out all your favorites,
fancy to plain,
saying to the lady
in pink, behind the wide
counter,
and one of those, and one
of those,
two of those, etc.
the affection is mutual.
enjoy.
has earned you a box of donuts.
here.
they are warm,
still gooey and hot,
boxed before they even
hit the shelf.
I picked out all your favorites,
fancy to plain,
saying to the lady
in pink, behind the wide
counter,
and one of those, and one
of those,
two of those, etc.
the affection is mutual.
enjoy.
eight chain linked fences
your sister
holds a grudge against your father
for being born
small and premature.
it's fifty years
old, the grudge, but not stale,
or tattered
by the years.
instead she's kept it fresh
and new
with each retelling.
it's a strange tale
of how your mother hopped
eight chain
linked fences to go slap
a woman
your father had been seeing
on the sly.
at the time your mother was
carrying your sister
for six months,
still
in the womb, but yelling,
i'm sure even then
at the injustices of the world,
all aimed at her.
holds a grudge against your father
for being born
small and premature.
it's fifty years
old, the grudge, but not stale,
or tattered
by the years.
instead she's kept it fresh
and new
with each retelling.
it's a strange tale
of how your mother hopped
eight chain
linked fences to go slap
a woman
your father had been seeing
on the sly.
at the time your mother was
carrying your sister
for six months,
still
in the womb, but yelling,
i'm sure even then
at the injustices of the world,
all aimed at her.
a pack of luckys
who didn't smoke
back then. each with his
own brand,
his own style of stamping
a new pack
hard against his hand.
the strike of the match,
the inhale,
the rings they would blow,
at thirteen,
cagneys and bogarts
already
in their striped polo
shirts
in the shadows of
the playground
where bad girls would come
around.
back then. each with his
own brand,
his own style of stamping
a new pack
hard against his hand.
the strike of the match,
the inhale,
the rings they would blow,
at thirteen,
cagneys and bogarts
already
in their striped polo
shirts
in the shadows of
the playground
where bad girls would come
around.
a pack of luckys
who didn't smoke
back then. each with his
own brand,
his own style of stamping
a new pack
hard against his hand.
the strike of the match,
the inhale,
the rings they would blow,
at thirteen,
cagneys and bogarts
already
in their striped polo
shirts
in the shadows of
the playground
where bad girls would come
around.
back then. each with his
own brand,
his own style of stamping
a new pack
hard against his hand.
the strike of the match,
the inhale,
the rings they would blow,
at thirteen,
cagneys and bogarts
already
in their striped polo
shirts
in the shadows of
the playground
where bad girls would come
around.
your floor
all eyes are on the buttons,
each lit
with a number
above our heads.
no words are spoken.
it's early morning
there is nothing
new to be said.
good day, good morning.
each
exiting the box
as the door slides open
to go on their separate
ways.
each lit
with a number
above our heads.
no words are spoken.
it's early morning
there is nothing
new to be said.
good day, good morning.
each
exiting the box
as the door slides open
to go on their separate
ways.
your floor
all eyes are on the buttons,
each lit
with a number
above our heads.
no words are spoken.
it's early morning
there is nothing
new to be said.
good day, good morning.
each
exiting the box
as the door slides open
to go on their separate
ways.
each lit
with a number
above our heads.
no words are spoken.
it's early morning
there is nothing
new to be said.
good day, good morning.
each
exiting the box
as the door slides open
to go on their separate
ways.
what i want
I want a poem
to be
a clear cold glass
of water.
something that will
soothe
my parched soul,
tell me things in
a different way,
things I already
know.
I want it to be sparse
and to the point,
not full
of words beyond
my education.
I want to read it aloud,
then again,
letting it quench
my thirst.
I want a poem to wake
me up
to what is possible
when paper
meets a pen.
to be
a clear cold glass
of water.
something that will
soothe
my parched soul,
tell me things in
a different way,
things I already
know.
I want it to be sparse
and to the point,
not full
of words beyond
my education.
I want to read it aloud,
then again,
letting it quench
my thirst.
I want a poem to wake
me up
to what is possible
when paper
meets a pen.
what i want
I want a poem
to be
a clear cold glass
of water.
something that will
soothe
my parched soul,
tell me things in
a different way,
things I already
know.
I want it to be sparse
and to the point,
not full
of words beyond
my education.
I want to read it aloud,
then again,
letting it quench
my thirst.
I want a poem to wake
me up
to what is possible
when paper
meets a pen.
to be
a clear cold glass
of water.
something that will
soothe
my parched soul,
tell me things in
a different way,
things I already
know.
I want it to be sparse
and to the point,
not full
of words beyond
my education.
I want to read it aloud,
then again,
letting it quench
my thirst.
I want a poem to wake
me up
to what is possible
when paper
meets a pen.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
the new rude
it's a new breed of rude.
no need
in saying hello
when passing by, or holding
a door.
letting someone
out before one goes in.
no need to signal
your turn,
or show kindness by
letting someone pass
before you.
it's okay to yell in
a crowded room and to
ignore,
stay on your phone,
staring deep into
its dark abyss as you cross
the road.
a thank you goes unsaid
these days,
for anything bought
in any store.
no need
in saying hello
when passing by, or holding
a door.
letting someone
out before one goes in.
no need to signal
your turn,
or show kindness by
letting someone pass
before you.
it's okay to yell in
a crowded room and to
ignore,
stay on your phone,
staring deep into
its dark abyss as you cross
the road.
a thank you goes unsaid
these days,
for anything bought
in any store.
all this
everything is sinkable.
don't let
your life fool you for one
minute.
who hasn't
felt
the surge of the sea
sucking
them under, tasted the salt
water
in their lungs,
gasped for air,
too scared
to even pray as you sink
into the deep end
of disaster.
some holes are large
and you go fast,
while others are smaller,
letting you sink
slowly,
making you believe
that all this, all this
will last.
don't let
your life fool you for one
minute.
who hasn't
felt
the surge of the sea
sucking
them under, tasted the salt
water
in their lungs,
gasped for air,
too scared
to even pray as you sink
into the deep end
of disaster.
some holes are large
and you go fast,
while others are smaller,
letting you sink
slowly,
making you believe
that all this, all this
will last.
a closer heaven
the undead
who are us, don't understand
what lies
below
the surface.
some think it's upwards.
in the clouds.
but maybe it's nearer
than that.
heaven being just a kiss.
a moment underfoot.
ice cream.
kindness.
your mother's stew.
we make too much of what
death might
bring or not bring.
we take too little time
on what's
the right thing
to do here.
who are us, don't understand
what lies
below
the surface.
some think it's upwards.
in the clouds.
but maybe it's nearer
than that.
heaven being just a kiss.
a moment underfoot.
ice cream.
kindness.
your mother's stew.
we make too much of what
death might
bring or not bring.
we take too little time
on what's
the right thing
to do here.
the next day
somehow you wake
up in Alaska
in an igloo. there is a small
woman beside
you cleaning fish.
she sees that you are awake
and comes over
to rub her nose
against yours.
she says something in a language
you've never heard
before.
her skin is brown, her hair
is black as oil.
she points to your
bear skin cape
and nods. you put it on
and look out
the rounded door of the ice
block you are in.
there is nothing but
white ice, white snow,
even the blue
sky seems determined
to be white.
a penguin walks by,
stopping to look a you.
he shrugs
and moves on. there are
no answers to your dreams.
there is only
the next day.
up in Alaska
in an igloo. there is a small
woman beside
you cleaning fish.
she sees that you are awake
and comes over
to rub her nose
against yours.
she says something in a language
you've never heard
before.
her skin is brown, her hair
is black as oil.
she points to your
bear skin cape
and nods. you put it on
and look out
the rounded door of the ice
block you are in.
there is nothing but
white ice, white snow,
even the blue
sky seems determined
to be white.
a penguin walks by,
stopping to look a you.
he shrugs
and moves on. there are
no answers to your dreams.
there is only
the next day.
the waiting
if you wait long
enough
nothing will happen.
that love won't fall through
the roof.
that new job
won't appear.
you'll still be out of shape
and fat.
that book won't read itself.
a stray cat will not
suddenly
be in your lap.
the retirement homes
are full of people
that waited
too long for something
to happen.
something different that
would give
meaning
to their lives.
they wait for something
else now.
enough
nothing will happen.
that love won't fall through
the roof.
that new job
won't appear.
you'll still be out of shape
and fat.
that book won't read itself.
a stray cat will not
suddenly
be in your lap.
the retirement homes
are full of people
that waited
too long for something
to happen.
something different that
would give
meaning
to their lives.
they wait for something
else now.
balance
the wheels
need to be balanced
in order
to get a smooth ride.
adjustments are in order.
a tap here,
a tap there, some weight
on the inside,
now air.
slow down
and take the corners
with care.
need to be balanced
in order
to get a smooth ride.
adjustments are in order.
a tap here,
a tap there, some weight
on the inside,
now air.
slow down
and take the corners
with care.
balance
the wheels
need to be balanced
in order
to get a smooth ride.
adjustments are in order.
a tap here,
a tap there, some weight
on the inside,
now air.
slow down
and take the corners
with care.
need to be balanced
in order
to get a smooth ride.
adjustments are in order.
a tap here,
a tap there, some weight
on the inside,
now air.
slow down
and take the corners
with care.
Monday, June 27, 2016
bring potatoes
sometimes I have
three or four red potatoes in the bin
for a year.
things grow
out of them,
potato like arms
and antlers, whiskers.
potatoes seem to last a long
time.
if I was ever going
to a take a long
trip somewhere, run away
from it all, without
taking much,
i'd bring some potatoes along.
three or four red potatoes in the bin
for a year.
things grow
out of them,
potato like arms
and antlers, whiskers.
potatoes seem to last a long
time.
if I was ever going
to a take a long
trip somewhere, run away
from it all, without
taking much,
i'd bring some potatoes along.
bring potatoes
sometimes I have
three or four red potatoes in the bin
for a year.
things grow
out of them,
potato like arms
and antlers, whiskers.
potatoes seem to last a long
time.
if I was ever going
to a take a long
trip somewhere, run away
from it all, without
taking much,
i'd bring some potatoes along.
three or four red potatoes in the bin
for a year.
things grow
out of them,
potato like arms
and antlers, whiskers.
potatoes seem to last a long
time.
if I was ever going
to a take a long
trip somewhere, run away
from it all, without
taking much,
i'd bring some potatoes along.
things happen
your neighbor,
two doors up,
a shaggy blonde with long
nails, who works at
the strip
club
is pregnant.
she says whoops,
when you see her out
in the parking lot
washing
her lexus
in a string bikini.
things happen, she says,
shrugging and
touching her belly
with both hands,
somehow explaining
the entire process
of continuing the species
with two
words.
two doors up,
a shaggy blonde with long
nails, who works at
the strip
club
is pregnant.
she says whoops,
when you see her out
in the parking lot
washing
her lexus
in a string bikini.
things happen, she says,
shrugging and
touching her belly
with both hands,
somehow explaining
the entire process
of continuing the species
with two
words.
things happen
your neighbor,
two doors up,
a shaggy blonde with long
nails, who works at
the strip
club
is pregnant.
she says whoops,
when you see her out
in the parking lot
washing
her lexus
in a string bikini.
things happen, she says,
shrugging and
touching her belly
with both hands,
somehow explaining
the entire process
of continuing the species
with two
words.
two doors up,
a shaggy blonde with long
nails, who works at
the strip
club
is pregnant.
she says whoops,
when you see her out
in the parking lot
washing
her lexus
in a string bikini.
things happen, she says,
shrugging and
touching her belly
with both hands,
somehow explaining
the entire process
of continuing the species
with two
words.
the clean house
it's a clean house.
swept
and wiped, dusted and mopped.
the mirrors
sparkle,
the counters shine.
hardly a crumb
is found.
books along the shelf,
a place for everything,
everything
in its place.
it's not a house I can
live in
or visit for very long.
i'll bring it
to its knees
with the likes of me.
swept
and wiped, dusted and mopped.
the mirrors
sparkle,
the counters shine.
hardly a crumb
is found.
books along the shelf,
a place for everything,
everything
in its place.
it's not a house I can
live in
or visit for very long.
i'll bring it
to its knees
with the likes of me.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
without words
I could listen
all night to music without words.
just strings
and woodwinds,
cellos and kettle drums.
the harp
and cymbals,
violins.
give me that kind of
wind
with you in my arms,
and the night
will be splendid,
without words
being said, words
being sung.
all night to music without words.
just strings
and woodwinds,
cellos and kettle drums.
the harp
and cymbals,
violins.
give me that kind of
wind
with you in my arms,
and the night
will be splendid,
without words
being said, words
being sung.
without words
I could listen
all night to music without words.
just strings
and woodwinds,
cellos and kettle drums.
the harp
and cymbals,
violins.
give me that kind of
wind
with you in my arms,
and the night
will be splendid,
without words
being said, words
being sung.
all night to music without words.
just strings
and woodwinds,
cellos and kettle drums.
the harp
and cymbals,
violins.
give me that kind of
wind
with you in my arms,
and the night
will be splendid,
without words
being said, words
being sung.
red lips
your red lips
are undefined.
speaking volumes
of mystery
about who are, who
I desire
on this summer night.
how they part, and pout,
or shine
into a smile
beneath
the half moon sky
as we say
hello,
or is it
goodbye.
are undefined.
speaking volumes
of mystery
about who are, who
I desire
on this summer night.
how they part, and pout,
or shine
into a smile
beneath
the half moon sky
as we say
hello,
or is it
goodbye.
red lips
your red lips
are undefined.
speaking volumes
of mystery
about who are, who
I desire
on this summer night.
how they part, and pout,
or shine
into a smile
beneath
the half moon sky
as we say
hello,
or is it
goodbye.
are undefined.
speaking volumes
of mystery
about who are, who
I desire
on this summer night.
how they part, and pout,
or shine
into a smile
beneath
the half moon sky
as we say
hello,
or is it
goodbye.
under the shady tree
what's new
doesn't stay new
for long.
a dent a ding, a scrape,
soon followed
by the dulled sheen,
the weathered
shine
of once
shiny paint. still
you try
to keep love
new,
parking beneath
the shady tree, going
at it with
hands
and polish,
the chamois cloth.
doesn't stay new
for long.
a dent a ding, a scrape,
soon followed
by the dulled sheen,
the weathered
shine
of once
shiny paint. still
you try
to keep love
new,
parking beneath
the shady tree, going
at it with
hands
and polish,
the chamois cloth.
under the shady tree
what's new
doesn't stay new
for long.
a dent a ding, a scrape,
soon followed
by the dulled sheen,
the weathered
shine
of once
shiny paint. still
you try
to keep love
new,
parking beneath
the shady tree, going
at it with
hands
and polish,
the chamois cloth.
doesn't stay new
for long.
a dent a ding, a scrape,
soon followed
by the dulled sheen,
the weathered
shine
of once
shiny paint. still
you try
to keep love
new,
parking beneath
the shady tree, going
at it with
hands
and polish,
the chamois cloth.
the taste of it
the taste
of it, the sweet or bitter,
salt
upon
your tongue,
the soured bite,
or bland.
each
day chewed and swallowed,
each
meal
between sun ups,
and downs
different than the ones
that came
before it.
of it, the sweet or bitter,
salt
upon
your tongue,
the soured bite,
or bland.
each
day chewed and swallowed,
each
meal
between sun ups,
and downs
different than the ones
that came
before it.
the taste of it
the taste
of it, the sweet or bitter,
salt
upon
your tongue,
the soured bite,
or bland.
each
day chewed and swallowed,
each
meal
between sun ups,
and downs
different than the ones
that came
before it.
of it, the sweet or bitter,
salt
upon
your tongue,
the soured bite,
or bland.
each
day chewed and swallowed,
each
meal
between sun ups,
and downs
different than the ones
that came
before it.
we sit
we sit
as the clouds cover
the sun,
the sun goes down
over the slant
of middle income
homes,
the pool settles
into a sheer lacquer of blue.
we sigh,
and say
where has the summer gone,
the year.
what's become
of all these months.
children spread
out
to places we'll never go.
books
read, never to be read
again.
so much time
absorbed
and let go. we sit
and all the questions
go unanswered
as the clouds
cover the sun,
the sun goes down over
the slant
of middle income homes.
as the clouds cover
the sun,
the sun goes down
over the slant
of middle income
homes,
the pool settles
into a sheer lacquer of blue.
we sigh,
and say
where has the summer gone,
the year.
what's become
of all these months.
children spread
out
to places we'll never go.
books
read, never to be read
again.
so much time
absorbed
and let go. we sit
and all the questions
go unanswered
as the clouds
cover the sun,
the sun goes down over
the slant
of middle income homes.
we sit
we sit
as the clouds cover
the sun,
the sun goes down
over the slant
of middle income
homes,
the pool settles
into a sheer lacquer of blue.
we sigh,
and say
where has the summer gone,
the year.
what's become
of all these months.
children spread
out
to places we'll never go.
books
read, never to be read
again.
so much time
absorbed
and let go. we sit
and all the questions
go unanswered
as the clouds
cover the sun,
the sun goes down over
the slant
of middle income homes.
as the clouds cover
the sun,
the sun goes down
over the slant
of middle income
homes,
the pool settles
into a sheer lacquer of blue.
we sigh,
and say
where has the summer gone,
the year.
what's become
of all these months.
children spread
out
to places we'll never go.
books
read, never to be read
again.
so much time
absorbed
and let go. we sit
and all the questions
go unanswered
as the clouds
cover the sun,
the sun goes down over
the slant
of middle income homes.
Saturday, June 25, 2016
shark bite
she shows me
the scar on her leg,
lifting her dress
up along the thigh.
see, she says,
that's where a shark bit me,
pointing at the shredded
dark patch.
I nearly died
from loss of blood.
but it's healed now.
the leg is strong.
in fact I go out dancing
every weekend.
maybe we can go dancing
sometime.
ummm. yeah. maybe.
the scar on her leg,
lifting her dress
up along the thigh.
see, she says,
that's where a shark bit me,
pointing at the shredded
dark patch.
I nearly died
from loss of blood.
but it's healed now.
the leg is strong.
in fact I go out dancing
every weekend.
maybe we can go dancing
sometime.
ummm. yeah. maybe.
shark bite
she shows me
the scar on her leg,
lifting her dress
up along the thigh.
see, she says,
that's where a shark bit me,
pointing at the shredded
dark patch.
I nearly died
from loss of blood.
but it's healed now.
the leg is strong.
in fact I go out dancing
every weekend.
maybe we can go dancing
sometime.
ummm. yeah. maybe.
the scar on her leg,
lifting her dress
up along the thigh.
see, she says,
that's where a shark bit me,
pointing at the shredded
dark patch.
I nearly died
from loss of blood.
but it's healed now.
the leg is strong.
in fact I go out dancing
every weekend.
maybe we can go dancing
sometime.
ummm. yeah. maybe.
i'll change, i promise
when younger
and in love, or lust,
or infatuation,
whatever the case may have been,
you promised
to change
when things began to crumble.
i'll change, you said,
holding her hand,
you'll see. I promise
to be a better,
more caring and loving man.
and you did for a week or two
but in time
fell back into your old
ways.
watching sports,
playing sports,
staying out late with your
friends. but
now, you shrug when things
go awry and say,
you know,
if it's not working, you can
go,
this is who I am.
and in love, or lust,
or infatuation,
whatever the case may have been,
you promised
to change
when things began to crumble.
i'll change, you said,
holding her hand,
you'll see. I promise
to be a better,
more caring and loving man.
and you did for a week or two
but in time
fell back into your old
ways.
watching sports,
playing sports,
staying out late with your
friends. but
now, you shrug when things
go awry and say,
you know,
if it's not working, you can
go,
this is who I am.
the nature walk
the children
with their long pole nets
reach over
the rail
and scoop small turtles
off the logs
as they sun
and rest.
hard shelled and green,
their patterns
made in yellow stripes.
each kid holds
one, stroking their
backs,
searching for the heads
that have slipped inside
on long necks.
all is well
until one child, louder
than the rest,
raises his arm,
his hand
holding a turtle
and smashes it against
the sidewalk.
such is the world we
live in.
with their long pole nets
reach over
the rail
and scoop small turtles
off the logs
as they sun
and rest.
hard shelled and green,
their patterns
made in yellow stripes.
each kid holds
one, stroking their
backs,
searching for the heads
that have slipped inside
on long necks.
all is well
until one child, louder
than the rest,
raises his arm,
his hand
holding a turtle
and smashes it against
the sidewalk.
such is the world we
live in.
the nature walk
the children
with their long pole nets
reach over
the rail
and scoop small turtles
off the logs
as they sun
and rest.
hard shelled and green,
their patterns
made in yellow stripes.
each kid holds
one, stroking their
backs,
searching for the heads
that have slipped inside
on long necks.
all is well
until one child, louder
than the rest,
raises his arm,
his hand
holding a turtle
and smashes it against
the sidewalk.
such is the world we
live in.
with their long pole nets
reach over
the rail
and scoop small turtles
off the logs
as they sun
and rest.
hard shelled and green,
their patterns
made in yellow stripes.
each kid holds
one, stroking their
backs,
searching for the heads
that have slipped inside
on long necks.
all is well
until one child, louder
than the rest,
raises his arm,
his hand
holding a turtle
and smashes it against
the sidewalk.
such is the world we
live in.
released from captivity
they release
your friend from jail after
37 days
of confinement.
the sentence shortened by
good behavior.
20 less days in the jump.
he attributes
it to working in the kitchen
with the other
inmates
and coming up with a new
recipe
for scrambled eggs.
jalapenos, he says, on the phone.
I just cut them
up in tiny little pieces
and threw them in
with grated cheese.
everyone loved them.
even the guards.
they made me write down
the recipe
before I left.
your friend from jail after
37 days
of confinement.
the sentence shortened by
good behavior.
20 less days in the jump.
he attributes
it to working in the kitchen
with the other
inmates
and coming up with a new
recipe
for scrambled eggs.
jalapenos, he says, on the phone.
I just cut them
up in tiny little pieces
and threw them in
with grated cheese.
everyone loved them.
even the guards.
they made me write down
the recipe
before I left.
released from captivity
they release
your friend from jail after
37 days
of confinement.
the sentence shortened by
good behavior.
20 less days in the jump.
he attributes
it to working in the kitchen
with the other
inmates
and coming up with a new
recipe
for scrambled eggs.
jalapenos, he says, on the phone.
I just cut them
up in tiny little pieces
and threw them in
with grated cheese.
everyone loved them.
even the guards.
they made me write down
the recipe
before I left.
your friend from jail after
37 days
of confinement.
the sentence shortened by
good behavior.
20 less days in the jump.
he attributes
it to working in the kitchen
with the other
inmates
and coming up with a new
recipe
for scrambled eggs.
jalapenos, he says, on the phone.
I just cut them
up in tiny little pieces
and threw them in
with grated cheese.
everyone loved them.
even the guards.
they made me write down
the recipe
before I left.
nothing new
what's unwritten will come.
nothing new
or original.
the sun has risen and set
too many
times
for that to happen.
there are only so many
colors
in the rainbow
notes on a scale, words
formed
from letters, but you
go at it.
why not, typing as you listen
to a song
that sounds
familiar.
nothing new
or original.
the sun has risen and set
too many
times
for that to happen.
there are only so many
colors
in the rainbow
notes on a scale, words
formed
from letters, but you
go at it.
why not, typing as you listen
to a song
that sounds
familiar.
Friday, June 24, 2016
red white and blue
I saw a long line the other
day down at the hospital
so I went over and asked
what was going on.
what's up with the line.
I asked a man sitting on
a fold out lawn chair,
wearing a pair of red white
and blue underpants.
he was sipping on
a Budweiser. we're here for
the early sign up at the burn
clinic, what with the fourth
of july right around
the corner, it's best to
sign up early, he said.
gots to be prepared.
last year I nearly put an eye
out when my son threw a
bottle at me with a firecracker
in it. it's still a little blurry,
that's why I wear this patch.
at his feet was a box of fireworks
and matches.
rockets and roman candles.
ace bandages and Vaseline.
want a sparkler, he said,
stroking his long beard
with three shortened fingers.
I bought them for the kids,
but they want cherry bombs
this year, they're tired of
sparklers.
they grow up so fast.
day down at the hospital
so I went over and asked
what was going on.
what's up with the line.
I asked a man sitting on
a fold out lawn chair,
wearing a pair of red white
and blue underpants.
he was sipping on
a Budweiser. we're here for
the early sign up at the burn
clinic, what with the fourth
of july right around
the corner, it's best to
sign up early, he said.
gots to be prepared.
last year I nearly put an eye
out when my son threw a
bottle at me with a firecracker
in it. it's still a little blurry,
that's why I wear this patch.
at his feet was a box of fireworks
and matches.
rockets and roman candles.
ace bandages and Vaseline.
want a sparkler, he said,
stroking his long beard
with three shortened fingers.
I bought them for the kids,
but they want cherry bombs
this year, they're tired of
sparklers.
they grow up so fast.
the empty nest
her first night
in the empty nest makes her
go to her son's room
to sit upon
his bed.
the books are there,
all lined
still on the shelf,
one fish two fish, blue
fish, green.
the stories
that she read.
the toys in the closet,
the stuffed
bears, George
in his red vest,
the posters of teams
he adores.
shoes upon shoes for
each sport.
clothes folded, by her,
on the dresser,
on the end of the bed
that fit no more.
the empty nest is not
easy, she thinks,
as she lies down,
as she used to do
beside his sleepy head.
in the empty nest makes her
go to her son's room
to sit upon
his bed.
the books are there,
all lined
still on the shelf,
one fish two fish, blue
fish, green.
the stories
that she read.
the toys in the closet,
the stuffed
bears, George
in his red vest,
the posters of teams
he adores.
shoes upon shoes for
each sport.
clothes folded, by her,
on the dresser,
on the end of the bed
that fit no more.
the empty nest is not
easy, she thinks,
as she lies down,
as she used to do
beside his sleepy head.
the empty nest
her first night
in the empty nest makes her
go to her son's room
to sit upon
his bed.
the books are there,
all lined
still on the shelf,
one fish two fish, blue
fish, green.
the stories
that she read.
the toys in the closet,
the stuffed
bears, George
in his red vest,
the posters of teams
he adores.
shoes upon shoes for
each sport.
clothes folded, by her,
on the dresser,
on the end of the bed
that fit no more.
the empty nest is not
easy, she thinks,
as she lies down,
as she used to do
beside his sleepy head.
in the empty nest makes her
go to her son's room
to sit upon
his bed.
the books are there,
all lined
still on the shelf,
one fish two fish, blue
fish, green.
the stories
that she read.
the toys in the closet,
the stuffed
bears, George
in his red vest,
the posters of teams
he adores.
shoes upon shoes for
each sport.
clothes folded, by her,
on the dresser,
on the end of the bed
that fit no more.
the empty nest is not
easy, she thinks,
as she lies down,
as she used to do
beside his sleepy head.
he dreams of water
he dreams of water.
great
pools of blue, wide
wet
surfaces
that the stars at night
skim
upon, he dreams
of swimming,
his arms
cutting into the black
liquid,
his feet kicking him
forward
to the shore.
he dreams of water
while above him
as he sleeps
a pipe
leaks, splashing his
legs as it drips upon
the floor.
great
pools of blue, wide
wet
surfaces
that the stars at night
skim
upon, he dreams
of swimming,
his arms
cutting into the black
liquid,
his feet kicking him
forward
to the shore.
he dreams of water
while above him
as he sleeps
a pipe
leaks, splashing his
legs as it drips upon
the floor.
he dreams of water
he dreams of water.
great
pools of blue, wide
wet
surfaces
that the stars at night
skim
upon, he dreams
of swimming,
his arms
cutting into the black
liquid,
his feet kicking him
forward
to the shore.
he dreams of water
while above him
as he sleeps
a pipe
leaks, splashing his
legs as it drips upon
the floor.
great
pools of blue, wide
wet
surfaces
that the stars at night
skim
upon, he dreams
of swimming,
his arms
cutting into the black
liquid,
his feet kicking him
forward
to the shore.
he dreams of water
while above him
as he sleeps
a pipe
leaks, splashing his
legs as it drips upon
the floor.
the red sports car
I want the little black
or red two
seat sports car.
the kind with the retractable
hard top
roof.
six speed, leather seats,
sixteen inch tires,
Sirius radio,
blue tooth.
I want it now, before
I change my mind
and come to my senses.
I want a lot of things
though
that I can't have, that would
seem to fit
just right. I want to feel
the wind in my hair,
sort of,
have people stop and gasp,
saying who is that man,
just look at that car
and who is that glamorous
woman with him,
is that hollygolightly?
or red two
seat sports car.
the kind with the retractable
hard top
roof.
six speed, leather seats,
sixteen inch tires,
Sirius radio,
blue tooth.
I want it now, before
I change my mind
and come to my senses.
I want a lot of things
though
that I can't have, that would
seem to fit
just right. I want to feel
the wind in my hair,
sort of,
have people stop and gasp,
saying who is that man,
just look at that car
and who is that glamorous
woman with him,
is that hollygolightly?
no charge
there's a bug
in my ice tea. a one inch
bug
with wings,
antennae,
thin legs, he's dead,
drowned
I imagine, caught
under the ice.
I've already taken a few
sips.
stirred in my sweet
and low.
squeezed out the lemon
wedge.
he has little dot black
eyes
which stare back at
me as I hold the glass
up to the light
showing
the waitress.
oh, she says, I do see him,
let me get you another,
not surprised at all.
no charge.
in my ice tea. a one inch
bug
with wings,
antennae,
thin legs, he's dead,
drowned
I imagine, caught
under the ice.
I've already taken a few
sips.
stirred in my sweet
and low.
squeezed out the lemon
wedge.
he has little dot black
eyes
which stare back at
me as I hold the glass
up to the light
showing
the waitress.
oh, she says, I do see him,
let me get you another,
not surprised at all.
no charge.
like a chicken on a june bug
he's from Richmond,
a mere
hundred miles from
ground zero,
and yet his syrupy
accent
denotes the deep
south, the civil
war south.
Dixieland with
bars and stripes,
front porch ice tea.
cotton and tobacco fields.
he elongates each word,
using phrases
you once heard in movies
like gone with the wind.
when you laugh a little,
you almost expect
him to pull out a sword
or to slap you with
a glove
asking you to duel,
in a one shot turn and fire
gun fight, but no sir,
no,
he's too polite.
a mere
hundred miles from
ground zero,
and yet his syrupy
accent
denotes the deep
south, the civil
war south.
Dixieland with
bars and stripes,
front porch ice tea.
cotton and tobacco fields.
he elongates each word,
using phrases
you once heard in movies
like gone with the wind.
when you laugh a little,
you almost expect
him to pull out a sword
or to slap you with
a glove
asking you to duel,
in a one shot turn and fire
gun fight, but no sir,
no,
he's too polite.
like a chicken on a june bug
he's from Richmond,
a mere
hundred miles from
ground zero,
and yet his syrupy
accent
denotes the deep
south, the civil
war south.
Dixieland with
bars and stripes,
front porch ice tea.
cotton and tobacco fields.
he elongates each word,
using phrases
you once heard in movies
like gone with the wind.
when you laugh a little,
you almost expect
him to pull out a sword
or to slap you with
a glove
asking you to duel,
in a one shot turn and fire
gun fight, but no sir,
no,
he's too polite.
a mere
hundred miles from
ground zero,
and yet his syrupy
accent
denotes the deep
south, the civil
war south.
Dixieland with
bars and stripes,
front porch ice tea.
cotton and tobacco fields.
he elongates each word,
using phrases
you once heard in movies
like gone with the wind.
when you laugh a little,
you almost expect
him to pull out a sword
or to slap you with
a glove
asking you to duel,
in a one shot turn and fire
gun fight, but no sir,
no,
he's too polite.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
the clock maker
I've been fixing clocks
my entire
life
he says. my home was my shop.
he spreads his arms out to show
me the clocks
on his walls and work bench.
you name a clock
and I've fixed it. go ahead,
name one.
timex, I blurt out.
no, he says.
that's a watch,
not a clock.
what about a swatch?
he looks at me and closes
his heavy eyelids.
that's a watch too he says.
cuckoo clocks.
grandfather clocks,
those are my
specialties. anything from
the black forest
in Germany.
what about those clock
watch computer things
you wear on your wrist
I ask,
tapping my empty wrist.
ever fix one of those.
you have to leave now he says.
as the sound of a cuckoo clock
starts clucking,
the little bird popping
out of his door.
I look at my phone for
the time.
ten minutes late, i tell him.
my entire
life
he says. my home was my shop.
he spreads his arms out to show
me the clocks
on his walls and work bench.
you name a clock
and I've fixed it. go ahead,
name one.
timex, I blurt out.
no, he says.
that's a watch,
not a clock.
what about a swatch?
he looks at me and closes
his heavy eyelids.
that's a watch too he says.
cuckoo clocks.
grandfather clocks,
those are my
specialties. anything from
the black forest
in Germany.
what about those clock
watch computer things
you wear on your wrist
I ask,
tapping my empty wrist.
ever fix one of those.
you have to leave now he says.
as the sound of a cuckoo clock
starts clucking,
the little bird popping
out of his door.
I look at my phone for
the time.
ten minutes late, i tell him.
not in the cloth
I never quite
think to set anything on fire
when i'm
angry about some vague
political issue,
or when the home team loses
a big game.
I never think
to turn over cars,
run out into the street
to loot
the local drug store,
or trash the city.
it hasn't
occurred to me
to shoot bullets into
the air,
throw bricks and Molotov
cocktails
at police cars. shouting
badly rhyming slogans
in loud fist
pumping chants.
i'm not a good rioter
at all.
think to set anything on fire
when i'm
angry about some vague
political issue,
or when the home team loses
a big game.
I never think
to turn over cars,
run out into the street
to loot
the local drug store,
or trash the city.
it hasn't
occurred to me
to shoot bullets into
the air,
throw bricks and Molotov
cocktails
at police cars. shouting
badly rhyming slogans
in loud fist
pumping chants.
i'm not a good rioter
at all.
her cupcakes
i ask her
to marry me because of her
cooking.
baking in particular.
i'm not sure what
it would be like to kiss
her, but
she isn't romantic
in that way.
heaven's forbid if we ever
made love.
no.
it's pretty much all about
her cakes and pies.
the icing,
the eggs and sugar,
flour,
mixed just right.
maybe that's enough to
make
a marriage work
and survive.
to marry me because of her
cooking.
baking in particular.
i'm not sure what
it would be like to kiss
her, but
she isn't romantic
in that way.
heaven's forbid if we ever
made love.
no.
it's pretty much all about
her cakes and pies.
the icing,
the eggs and sugar,
flour,
mixed just right.
maybe that's enough to
make
a marriage work
and survive.
not in the cloth
I never quite
think to set anything on fire
when i'm
angry about some vague
political issue,
or when the home team loses
a big game.
I never think
to turn over cars,
run out into the street
to loot
the local drug store,
or trash the city.
it hasn't
occurred to me
to shoot bullets into
the air,
throw bricks and Molotov
cocktails
at police cars. shouting
badly rhyming slogans
in loud fist
pumping chants.
i'm not a good rioter
at all.
think to set anything on fire
when i'm
angry about some vague
political issue,
or when the home team loses
a big game.
I never think
to turn over cars,
run out into the street
to loot
the local drug store,
or trash the city.
it hasn't
occurred to me
to shoot bullets into
the air,
throw bricks and Molotov
cocktails
at police cars. shouting
badly rhyming slogans
in loud fist
pumping chants.
i'm not a good rioter
at all.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
cry me a river
she would cry
at weddings. birthday parties.
funerals.
soap commercials,
a cute
dog in a cage
at the pet store.
flowers made her cry.
hallmark cards.
happy news.
sad news.
a sunset,
the full moon made her cry.
I wondered sometimes
where all these
tears
were coming from.
it's probably why it
didn't work out,
and she left.
i saved all my tears
for that moment.
at weddings. birthday parties.
funerals.
soap commercials,
a cute
dog in a cage
at the pet store.
flowers made her cry.
hallmark cards.
happy news.
sad news.
a sunset,
the full moon made her cry.
I wondered sometimes
where all these
tears
were coming from.
it's probably why it
didn't work out,
and she left.
i saved all my tears
for that moment.
i scream out the window
I scream out the window
for the man
to pick up the three leaves
that he's
pushing towards the truck
with a leaf blower.
he can't hear me though.
the motor is so loud,
and he has earphones on
his head.
i'm getting cranky these
days about things
like this.
don't even get me started
on turn signals.
I wonder if it's something
serious.
something in my head
pressing on a nerve.
drinking used to help,
but not anymore.
I should get an MRI
of my entire body to see
what's up, or maybe, just
maybe
it's beyond that.
for the man
to pick up the three leaves
that he's
pushing towards the truck
with a leaf blower.
he can't hear me though.
the motor is so loud,
and he has earphones on
his head.
i'm getting cranky these
days about things
like this.
don't even get me started
on turn signals.
I wonder if it's something
serious.
something in my head
pressing on a nerve.
drinking used to help,
but not anymore.
I should get an MRI
of my entire body to see
what's up, or maybe, just
maybe
it's beyond that.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
