easy keeps you young.
easy keeps
you unaware, naïve.
you stay the buried seed,
never knowing
rain,
never knowing sun.
while death
will bring you to your knees.
disease or lack
will strengthen you.
hunger will make you hunt.
a broken heart
will cure
the boy within.
give me a struggle
anytime.
give me truth,
be blunt.
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
two tickets
a find a coat,
not mine, deep into the well
of a dust
laden closet.
it's on a hanger
beside a
coats of my own.
who put it there is unknown.
who it belongs
too,
I don't know.
it's a fine coat though.
long,
black with buttons
still holding shine.
I dig into a pocket,
there's a brush,
a hat,
a scarf tucked within.
two half tickets
to a play. two thousand
and nine.
I wonder how she is these
days,
and if she misses
her coat, or me, though
she was never mine.
not mine, deep into the well
of a dust
laden closet.
it's on a hanger
beside a
coats of my own.
who put it there is unknown.
who it belongs
too,
I don't know.
it's a fine coat though.
long,
black with buttons
still holding shine.
I dig into a pocket,
there's a brush,
a hat,
a scarf tucked within.
two half tickets
to a play. two thousand
and nine.
I wonder how she is these
days,
and if she misses
her coat, or me, though
she was never mine.
the unseen self
it takes time
but we learn to prefect who we aren't.
we
embrace whatever style suits our
fancy
for the day or night.
we listens and absorb
those around us, their words,
their light.
we make ourselves, like clay,
into something
less ordinary, less slight.
thinking
if I behave this way,
all things
will be right,
and yet
still it's not who we are.
that
is rarely seen.
but we learn to prefect who we aren't.
we
embrace whatever style suits our
fancy
for the day or night.
we listens and absorb
those around us, their words,
their light.
we make ourselves, like clay,
into something
less ordinary, less slight.
thinking
if I behave this way,
all things
will be right,
and yet
still it's not who we are.
that
is rarely seen.
Monday, February 17, 2020
this bruise is nothing
this bruise is nothing.
the plum rise of blood on skin.
the thickness
of the strike.
how easily
we bump into things,
or things into us.
this strange part of life.
with age we
touch the table to move
across
the room,
go slowly up the staircase.
as if on
ice we
negotiate the wet floor
of the kitchen
or bathroom.
but this bruise is nothing.
hardly a wound
worth mentioning.
i'm sure there are more to come.
both inside
as well as out.
its colors will go towards
green
then yellow, then back again
towards a fleshy shade of white.
the plum rise of blood on skin.
the thickness
of the strike.
how easily
we bump into things,
or things into us.
this strange part of life.
with age we
touch the table to move
across
the room,
go slowly up the staircase.
as if on
ice we
negotiate the wet floor
of the kitchen
or bathroom.
but this bruise is nothing.
hardly a wound
worth mentioning.
i'm sure there are more to come.
both inside
as well as out.
its colors will go towards
green
then yellow, then back again
towards a fleshy shade of white.
an arrow more precise?
is there any worse
death
than that of betrayal?
any worse
injury
to the soul, the ego,
than a lie
told
over and over
as if it's true.
is there any less poison
than that of a lover
gone astray,
gone secret and cold
and yet still returns
each night
as if
things were fine.
find me a sharper
knife,
a more hot bullet,
an arrow more precise
and i will
say no.
not hardly.
death
than that of betrayal?
any worse
injury
to the soul, the ego,
than a lie
told
over and over
as if it's true.
is there any less poison
than that of a lover
gone astray,
gone secret and cold
and yet still returns
each night
as if
things were fine.
find me a sharper
knife,
a more hot bullet,
an arrow more precise
and i will
say no.
not hardly.
Just Image
is there anything real.
anyone
out there
honest and true.
loving and kind?
is there a box without a bright
red label,
with ingredients
you've never
heard of.
is there
a soul
with a heart. not an image
formed
for mirror
that in the light falls apart.
is there anything not for sale.
without a balloon
tied to it.
or music blaring from a horn,
without
a broken wheel?
anyone unpretentious?
anyone
real?
please tell me.
i need to know.
anyone
out there
honest and true.
loving and kind?
is there a box without a bright
red label,
with ingredients
you've never
heard of.
is there
a soul
with a heart. not an image
formed
for mirror
that in the light falls apart.
is there anything not for sale.
without a balloon
tied to it.
or music blaring from a horn,
without
a broken wheel?
anyone unpretentious?
anyone
real?
please tell me.
i need to know.
those summers
those
were real summers.
slow drawl of time.
not like now.
is anything like now
that was?
how we stayed up, lying on
the picnic table
at night.
not yet lovers, just friends.
twelve and thirteen.
afraid to touch hands.
those summers. those sweet
melon
summers.
of falling stars.
black cherries in the trees.
the oasis
of the pool, the sun
in our hair.
glorious and free, yet to
know
what a broken heart was.
still
open
to love, to possibility.
were real summers.
slow drawl of time.
not like now.
is anything like now
that was?
how we stayed up, lying on
the picnic table
at night.
not yet lovers, just friends.
twelve and thirteen.
afraid to touch hands.
those summers. those sweet
melon
summers.
of falling stars.
black cherries in the trees.
the oasis
of the pool, the sun
in our hair.
glorious and free, yet to
know
what a broken heart was.
still
open
to love, to possibility.
forgive me not
i disappoint you?
i'm sorry, in a disingenuous
sort of way
that i
haven't lived up
to your expectations.
the things you once liked,
have suddenly
become
the things that are in
the way.
forgive me, or not.
go find a daisy and decide.
pluck the petals
one by one.
i may be here,
i might be gone.
but this i know,
time is no longer on our side.
i'm sorry, in a disingenuous
sort of way
that i
haven't lived up
to your expectations.
the things you once liked,
have suddenly
become
the things that are in
the way.
forgive me, or not.
go find a daisy and decide.
pluck the petals
one by one.
i may be here,
i might be gone.
but this i know,
time is no longer on our side.
made whole by subtraction
nothing is missing anymore.
there is no lack.
no dark
surprise
arriving by letter or
package
through the slot
of the door.
i feel no cold hand upon my
arm.
no stranger in my bed.
the house is full of me.
made
whole by subtraction.
there is no lack.
no dark
surprise
arriving by letter or
package
through the slot
of the door.
i feel no cold hand upon my
arm.
no stranger in my bed.
the house is full of me.
made
whole by subtraction.
my lovers
i sleep with books.
each is a mistress. a lover,
a wife.
i place them
beside me on the bed.
beneath a pillow.
on the nightstand.
they are in easy reach.
the words are comforting
in the shallow light
of morning.
the twilight of dusk.
they keep me warm. they keep
me
alive.
I've never known love
like them before.
they give and give and give.
and ask
for little in return.
just read me, they say,
please read me again.
which i adore.
each is a mistress. a lover,
a wife.
i place them
beside me on the bed.
beneath a pillow.
on the nightstand.
they are in easy reach.
the words are comforting
in the shallow light
of morning.
the twilight of dusk.
they keep me warm. they keep
me
alive.
I've never known love
like them before.
they give and give and give.
and ask
for little in return.
just read me, they say,
please read me again.
which i adore.
i've gone inside
the yard
left to itself for two years
now,
has little to say,
less to remember.
the rough cut
of bushes down to nubs.
the slash
of weeds, tugged and pulled
on sore
knees.
the gravel
below the inch of grey
soil.
what grows here is not
my decision.
I let
the wind decide.
I let time, rain, the gentle
moonlight
bring out
what needs to be
alive.
it's no longer my yard,
I've given
it up
to the birds and squirrels,
other life,
I've gone inside.
left to itself for two years
now,
has little to say,
less to remember.
the rough cut
of bushes down to nubs.
the slash
of weeds, tugged and pulled
on sore
knees.
the gravel
below the inch of grey
soil.
what grows here is not
my decision.
I let
the wind decide.
I let time, rain, the gentle
moonlight
bring out
what needs to be
alive.
it's no longer my yard,
I've given
it up
to the birds and squirrels,
other life,
I've gone inside.
enjoy your life
a tree fell in the woods,
but nobody heard it
because somebody's wife kept
talking, he says.
I laugh.
that's a good one, I say
to the guy
in line
in front of me. he laughs with
me as if it's
the first time
he's told
that joke.
he's old. he remembers
when
this coffee shop
was a barn.
when there were horse trails
where the highway
is.
when my wife was alive, he says,
his eyes going soft,
she loved to ride
these hills. she was something.
we stop talking
and he turns back around
to get his coffee.
when he leaves, he touches my
arm, lost
in some memory
and says.
enjoy your life, my friend,
enjoy your life.
but nobody heard it
because somebody's wife kept
talking, he says.
I laugh.
that's a good one, I say
to the guy
in line
in front of me. he laughs with
me as if it's
the first time
he's told
that joke.
he's old. he remembers
when
this coffee shop
was a barn.
when there were horse trails
where the highway
is.
when my wife was alive, he says,
his eyes going soft,
she loved to ride
these hills. she was something.
we stop talking
and he turns back around
to get his coffee.
when he leaves, he touches my
arm, lost
in some memory
and says.
enjoy your life, my friend,
enjoy your life.
homeward bound
some things you miss.
new York, for instance.
greasy, bubbling cheese
on a thick
crust with pepperoni.
you miss the wind
off the harbor.
the lights and mayhem
of times square.
the shows, the diners.
museums.
the long walks
through central park.
Chinatown and the village.
a stop at the zoo.
soho, NoHo.
tribeca.
you need your fix again,
real soon.
it's been too long away.
but just a few days.
whose got that kind of money
or strength
to last much longer.
new York, for instance.
greasy, bubbling cheese
on a thick
crust with pepperoni.
you miss the wind
off the harbor.
the lights and mayhem
of times square.
the shows, the diners.
museums.
the long walks
through central park.
Chinatown and the village.
a stop at the zoo.
soho, NoHo.
tribeca.
you need your fix again,
real soon.
it's been too long away.
but just a few days.
whose got that kind of money
or strength
to last much longer.
new wings
I yawn,
I stretch. I jump out of bed
into the cold
stream
of a shower.
energized and ready for the day.
work
on this holiday.
but it's good.
a sweet
new day in February.
untroubled, untethered,
a bird
with new wings.
a cup of joe,
the radio.
and off we go.
I stretch. I jump out of bed
into the cold
stream
of a shower.
energized and ready for the day.
work
on this holiday.
but it's good.
a sweet
new day in February.
untroubled, untethered,
a bird
with new wings.
a cup of joe,
the radio.
and off we go.
Sunday, February 16, 2020
Being Thankful
there is so much to be thankful for.
I have so many pairs of socks
it's embarrassing.
shoes too.
underwear still wrapped in plastic.
I have four new suits,
black and charcoal that I never wear.
I have ice.
water, hot and cold.
a house. a yard.
a very comfortable bed.
I have electricity.
my health.
my son in California
doing well.
I have brothers and sisters,
a father
at 92.
there's money in the bank,
more than i'll ever need
or spend. there's food
in the freezer.
I have work. I have a car,
a truck.
a washing machine, a dryer.
televisions, radios, stereos.
speaker all over
the place.
a cell phone, a land line.
I have hands
and legs,
eyes and ears.
teeth.
a heart that beats on a regular
basis.
I have old friends, new friends.
so many good memories.
I have the past, I have now.
I have peace. I have joy. I have
so much
through luck, and hard work,
and by being blessed.
but I know that like Job, things
could at any moment could take
a turn for the worse.
I have so many pairs of socks
it's embarrassing.
shoes too.
underwear still wrapped in plastic.
I have four new suits,
black and charcoal that I never wear.
I have ice.
water, hot and cold.
a house. a yard.
a very comfortable bed.
I have electricity.
my health.
my son in California
doing well.
I have brothers and sisters,
a father
at 92.
there's money in the bank,
more than i'll ever need
or spend. there's food
in the freezer.
I have work. I have a car,
a truck.
a washing machine, a dryer.
televisions, radios, stereos.
speaker all over
the place.
a cell phone, a land line.
I have hands
and legs,
eyes and ears.
teeth.
a heart that beats on a regular
basis.
I have old friends, new friends.
so many good memories.
I have the past, I have now.
I have peace. I have joy. I have
so much
through luck, and hard work,
and by being blessed.
but I know that like Job, things
could at any moment could take
a turn for the worse.
No Longer the Hood
I drive downtown
to go look at a job.
it's in the middle of the city
and takes an
hour with normal
traffic.
it's where the hood used to be.
it's where the riots
were in
the late sixties.
gangs,
drugs, hookers. the whole
catastrophe
was in play
up 14th street and Georgia
avenue.
now I see the strollers
being pushed.
daisies coming up out of yards.
the houses are painted pinks
and blues.
new picket fences.
dogs are barking, kids are
on swings.
there's a barbeque going on
in the corner house,
with Biff and Molly,
Hillary
and Hugh.
to go look at a job.
it's in the middle of the city
and takes an
hour with normal
traffic.
it's where the hood used to be.
it's where the riots
were in
the late sixties.
gangs,
drugs, hookers. the whole
catastrophe
was in play
up 14th street and Georgia
avenue.
now I see the strollers
being pushed.
daisies coming up out of yards.
the houses are painted pinks
and blues.
new picket fences.
dogs are barking, kids are
on swings.
there's a barbeque going on
in the corner house,
with Biff and Molly,
Hillary
and Hugh.
this will never work
i'm lactose intolerant
she tells me.
that means, no milk, no cheese, no yogurt,
and I only eat grass fed meat
or poultry.
lean cuts.
the fish have to be fresh caught,
nothing frozen
or farmed.
vegetables should be organic,
and local.
no bread, no sugar, no dessert or
coffee for me.
just sparkling water
on spring water ice. a slice
of organic lemon.
and i'm allergic to cats.
you don't have a cat do you?
and is your house mold free?
I have a severe reaction
to mold
and by the way,
I prefer to drive in the day time,
and if it's rainy
or too cold, or windy,
let's try another time.
oh and I don't drink alcohol.
she tells me.
that means, no milk, no cheese, no yogurt,
and I only eat grass fed meat
or poultry.
lean cuts.
the fish have to be fresh caught,
nothing frozen
or farmed.
vegetables should be organic,
and local.
no bread, no sugar, no dessert or
coffee for me.
just sparkling water
on spring water ice. a slice
of organic lemon.
and i'm allergic to cats.
you don't have a cat do you?
and is your house mold free?
I have a severe reaction
to mold
and by the way,
I prefer to drive in the day time,
and if it's rainy
or too cold, or windy,
let's try another time.
oh and I don't drink alcohol.
relationship amnesia
it's not uncommon, in fact
it's quite ordinary
for one to get relationship amnesia
when you've been away from someone
for awhile.
you romanticize the few good
things that occurred
when you were with a significant other,
time and distance making
the heart grow erroneously fonder.
you completely
forget, as if your brain
has been doped, about
the lying, the cheating and betrayal,
the emotional
abuse and
constant turmoil.
you gloss over the insanity of the time
you spent with this person.
it's like you go into a coma
unable to wake up
and remember the hell
you went through.
crazily, you actually think
calling
this person, unblocking them
from your phone
and social media,
texting or sending them a letter
and reminiscing about
all the good times.
then you come to your senses.
the letter would be short,
a few words, perhaps.
the texting
one line,
the call would last ten seconds.
what good memories?
hardly any come to mind.
so few if any, from what
what I can recall.
it's quite ordinary
for one to get relationship amnesia
when you've been away from someone
for awhile.
you romanticize the few good
things that occurred
when you were with a significant other,
time and distance making
the heart grow erroneously fonder.
you completely
forget, as if your brain
has been doped, about
the lying, the cheating and betrayal,
the emotional
abuse and
constant turmoil.
you gloss over the insanity of the time
you spent with this person.
it's like you go into a coma
unable to wake up
and remember the hell
you went through.
crazily, you actually think
calling
this person, unblocking them
from your phone
and social media,
texting or sending them a letter
and reminiscing about
all the good times.
then you come to your senses.
the letter would be short,
a few words, perhaps.
the texting
one line,
the call would last ten seconds.
what good memories?
hardly any come to mind.
so few if any, from what
what I can recall.
5:30 a.m.
after a rough night out
I wake up
and lean on the cold rim
of the white porcelain sink.
I fill it with ice water
then drop my head into it.
I shake it off, then look
in the mirror.
what the hell, where did that
new crease in my brow come from?
these wrinkles are coming out
of nowhere.
i'm beginning to look like my
mother and father
combined.
which I guess makes sense.
I slap on some shaving cream
and mow away the stubble.
silver and white flecks of what
used to be luxurious
brown hair.
but I haven't given up.
I flex my muscles and put
some visine in my eyes.
I hear a voice coming from the other
room,
what are you doing in there?
are you okay? come back to bed.
brushing my teeth, I yell back.
be there in a minute.
hold that thought.
I brush my teeth, gargle,
spit. take a zinc pill,
then turn the light off.
it's five thirty in the morning.
I wake up
and lean on the cold rim
of the white porcelain sink.
I fill it with ice water
then drop my head into it.
I shake it off, then look
in the mirror.
what the hell, where did that
new crease in my brow come from?
these wrinkles are coming out
of nowhere.
i'm beginning to look like my
mother and father
combined.
which I guess makes sense.
I slap on some shaving cream
and mow away the stubble.
silver and white flecks of what
used to be luxurious
brown hair.
but I haven't given up.
I flex my muscles and put
some visine in my eyes.
I hear a voice coming from the other
room,
what are you doing in there?
are you okay? come back to bed.
brushing my teeth, I yell back.
be there in a minute.
hold that thought.
I brush my teeth, gargle,
spit. take a zinc pill,
then turn the light off.
it's five thirty in the morning.
Your Lucky Day
a stroke of luck.
a penny found.
the shooting star, the wishing
well.
each to its
own small reward
of good fortune.
don't look that gift horse
in the mouth.
be thankful for what's come
and what's gone.
the road is clear
for what should be.
a penny found.
the shooting star, the wishing
well.
each to its
own small reward
of good fortune.
don't look that gift horse
in the mouth.
be thankful for what's come
and what's gone.
the road is clear
for what should be.
Go Fund Me
I want a new car so I start
up a go fund me
on social media.
the money rolls in.
friends
relatives
people I hardly know
send me their hard earned dough.
I want to take a cruise.
another go fund me.
marriage and a honeymoon.
yes.
go fund me.
my dog is sick.
i'm sick.
my phone broke.
my computer is on the fritz.
I want a house, a boat,
I want
I want
I want.
but why work for it
when I have
go fund me dot com.
work is for the weak, the dumb.
the losers
that I can bleed.
go fund me.
up a go fund me
on social media.
the money rolls in.
friends
relatives
people I hardly know
send me their hard earned dough.
I want to take a cruise.
another go fund me.
marriage and a honeymoon.
yes.
go fund me.
my dog is sick.
i'm sick.
my phone broke.
my computer is on the fritz.
I want a house, a boat,
I want
I want
I want.
but why work for it
when I have
go fund me dot com.
work is for the weak, the dumb.
the losers
that I can bleed.
go fund me.
having drinks
one drink is fine.
a nice calm feeling,
sublime.
no rush, no hurry, just conversation.
a meal.
a relaxing sigh.
two drinks, though. can get you talking,
thinking.
wondering.
all the maybes in the world somehow
come to light. you're funny
and light.
the third drink has you reaching
for the phone.
groping,
saying things you'll regret
come morning.
you believe that anything is possible.
all the world
is gold.
love can be retrieved.
life can be as wonderful
as you once were told.
the fourth drink should never
be in your hand.
it's the dark side. the wounded
animal side.
thinking revenge and getting even
for slights long
gone.
the part of you that no one,
not even you
understands.
a nice calm feeling,
sublime.
no rush, no hurry, just conversation.
a meal.
a relaxing sigh.
two drinks, though. can get you talking,
thinking.
wondering.
all the maybes in the world somehow
come to light. you're funny
and light.
the third drink has you reaching
for the phone.
groping,
saying things you'll regret
come morning.
you believe that anything is possible.
all the world
is gold.
love can be retrieved.
life can be as wonderful
as you once were told.
the fourth drink should never
be in your hand.
it's the dark side. the wounded
animal side.
thinking revenge and getting even
for slights long
gone.
the part of you that no one,
not even you
understands.
investing
we are investors.
we put money in the bank.
we hand
it over to millennials to make
our retirement safe.
we throw pennies into the jar.
we buy clothes that will last,
shoes that can be
cobbled.
we get our blood pressure checked.
we make sure the water
is turned off for winter.
the dog has it's shots.
we get our teeth cleaned to prevent
decay.
we invest in the yard.
sod and seed.
we do cross word puzzles
to keep our brains
in order.
we cut coupons and look for
discounts. we're investing,
we're looking towards a future.
it's not greed.
we tuck in the children,
we check their home work,
we
find books that they'll read.
we give flowers and cards.
we buy gifts for loved ones.
we invest in their hearts
our desires, our needs.
we are squirrels in the woods
burying acorns
for when it snows.
for winter says no more.
we put money in the bank.
we hand
it over to millennials to make
our retirement safe.
we throw pennies into the jar.
we buy clothes that will last,
shoes that can be
cobbled.
we get our blood pressure checked.
we make sure the water
is turned off for winter.
the dog has it's shots.
we get our teeth cleaned to prevent
decay.
we invest in the yard.
sod and seed.
we do cross word puzzles
to keep our brains
in order.
we cut coupons and look for
discounts. we're investing,
we're looking towards a future.
it's not greed.
we tuck in the children,
we check their home work,
we
find books that they'll read.
we give flowers and cards.
we buy gifts for loved ones.
we invest in their hearts
our desires, our needs.
we are squirrels in the woods
burying acorns
for when it snows.
for winter says no more.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
what was kind
when love ends
we unhinge, we uncouple.
we separate
and move
onward to a different place.
no longer
skin to skin.
it's different now.
no whispers
to be heard
no finishing each other's
thoughts
with words.
we go slowly into the white
hollows
of time.
of memory.
we are set apart from one another,
untethered.
thinking only
of what was kind.
we unhinge, we uncouple.
we separate
and move
onward to a different place.
no longer
skin to skin.
it's different now.
no whispers
to be heard
no finishing each other's
thoughts
with words.
we go slowly into the white
hollows
of time.
of memory.
we are set apart from one another,
untethered.
thinking only
of what was kind.
the sea
the sea is incoherent,
a different
language
in my ears. I want more.
I want clarity.
but it gives me none of that.
the salt
of air,
the brine,
the dredge of green
that comes and comes
and
goes.
the thunder
of it.
I want a voice. I want to hold
a white shell
to my
ear and know
all what I need to know.
not just about you, about
tomorrows
too.
I want to know what lies
below.
what the dead
have to offer
for us still sailing
adrift
wondering which way to go.
a different
language
in my ears. I want more.
I want clarity.
but it gives me none of that.
the salt
of air,
the brine,
the dredge of green
that comes and comes
and
goes.
the thunder
of it.
I want a voice. I want to hold
a white shell
to my
ear and know
all what I need to know.
not just about you, about
tomorrows
too.
I want to know what lies
below.
what the dead
have to offer
for us still sailing
adrift
wondering which way to go.
My Friend Ariel
i sink into the big Saturday chair.
a worn brown leather
sofa beside
the big window with
enough light to read the fine
print.
i go back into Ariel.
an old
dark and mysterious friend.
the bee poem.
daddy. lady Lazarus.
the brilliance of her pen.
so much
reminds me of someone.
so much
is a rich bruised memory, best
left
unstirred.
untouched. there is no going
back.
there are no amends.
a worn brown leather
sofa beside
the big window with
enough light to read the fine
print.
i go back into Ariel.
an old
dark and mysterious friend.
the bee poem.
daddy. lady Lazarus.
the brilliance of her pen.
so much
reminds me of someone.
so much
is a rich bruised memory, best
left
unstirred.
untouched. there is no going
back.
there are no amends.
seasonal fruit
I see the peach.
it's summer ripeness. the plum
the cherry.
the fall apple.
I know the taste, the juice
of it.
the sweet unchanging
history
of the fruit
that you've come to know
since birth.
a red melon, the orange lope,
the blackberries
making blue
an entire field.
you've known
since the first bite
the smile
your body makes
as the dribble of it runs
down your chin.
each season to its own
fruit.
its own harvest, taking
you home again.
it's summer ripeness. the plum
the cherry.
the fall apple.
I know the taste, the juice
of it.
the sweet unchanging
history
of the fruit
that you've come to know
since birth.
a red melon, the orange lope,
the blackberries
making blue
an entire field.
you've known
since the first bite
the smile
your body makes
as the dribble of it runs
down your chin.
each season to its own
fruit.
its own harvest, taking
you home again.
the devil that you know
sometimes
the devil that you know is
better than
the one that you don't.
I've seen it time and time
again.
having gone through it myself.
staying put in hell
and stopping,
waiting as if hell will
no longer
be hell,
hesitant,
instead of getting out,
running to the other side
to the nearest exit.
it's a persuasive argument
your mind and heart makes,
trumping
your gut instincts,
your true and infallible
self.
the devil that you know is
better than
the one that you don't.
I've seen it time and time
again.
having gone through it myself.
staying put in hell
and stopping,
waiting as if hell will
no longer
be hell,
hesitant,
instead of getting out,
running to the other side
to the nearest exit.
it's a persuasive argument
your mind and heart makes,
trumping
your gut instincts,
your true and infallible
self.
Solomon's Island
she was off the grid.
a little quirky, on the far end
of the spectrum.
she wore what she called snake boots.
white plastic
boots with pictures of umbrellas
on them.
her yard was full of snakes.
she didn't believe in electricity
and pondered
solar panels.
no tv
no radio.
a few lights scattered about,
40 watts.
i slept on a horse blanket in the basement
between pillars
of magazines
from the 1980's.
there was a compost pile
at the far end
of her sloping yard
where all the trash
would go
and where the raccoons would
gather and hiss
at you when
you brought a new pail
of garbage to the pile.
she liked to recite Shakespearean
sonnets
when the mood struck,
taking the floor with grand
gestures
and facial expressions.
valentine cards from her third
grade class
fifty years ago
were scattered about her laundry
room floor.
she was fun, interesting, but a
giant cup of crazy.
like me, but not like me in
so many ways.
a little quirky, on the far end
of the spectrum.
she wore what she called snake boots.
white plastic
boots with pictures of umbrellas
on them.
her yard was full of snakes.
she didn't believe in electricity
and pondered
solar panels.
no tv
no radio.
a few lights scattered about,
40 watts.
i slept on a horse blanket in the basement
between pillars
of magazines
from the 1980's.
there was a compost pile
at the far end
of her sloping yard
where all the trash
would go
and where the raccoons would
gather and hiss
at you when
you brought a new pail
of garbage to the pile.
she liked to recite Shakespearean
sonnets
when the mood struck,
taking the floor with grand
gestures
and facial expressions.
valentine cards from her third
grade class
fifty years ago
were scattered about her laundry
room floor.
she was fun, interesting, but a
giant cup of crazy.
like me, but not like me in
so many ways.
Come to Florida
come to florida
she says in her birthday card.
come to the sunshine state.
we'll make
love in an orange grove.
we'll drive along the beach
with the top down.
we'll change our names.
we'll
wear white clothes.
we'll become who we really are.
we'll pull silver fish
from the sea.
we'll drink strong drinks
under the moon
of Miami beach.
we'll be each other's lovers,
pals, confidants.
we'll be our own movie stars.
come to florida, she says.
i'm waiting with open
arms.
come to me. come and be free.
she says in her birthday card.
come to the sunshine state.
we'll make
love in an orange grove.
we'll drive along the beach
with the top down.
we'll change our names.
we'll
wear white clothes.
we'll become who we really are.
we'll pull silver fish
from the sea.
we'll drink strong drinks
under the moon
of Miami beach.
we'll be each other's lovers,
pals, confidants.
we'll be our own movie stars.
come to florida, she says.
i'm waiting with open
arms.
come to me. come and be free.
the last leaf
I look out the window
at the man
in a mask with a leaf blower.
it sounds like a jet plane
about to crash
into the cul de sac.
he's chasing, pushing,
in pursuit of
one leaf
to be sucked up into his enormous
truck
which is running
loudly on the street.
a great diesel cloud of black smoke
rises from the exhaust.
it's early. hardly a bird is up.
I watch for a few minutes
then go fix a cup of coffee.
I go back to the window.
he's getting closer
to the truck. inch by inch
the little brown leaf moves
onward. he's
real close. another thirty
minutes and he'll have
the leaf at last.
i'm almost ready to clap.
at the man
in a mask with a leaf blower.
it sounds like a jet plane
about to crash
into the cul de sac.
he's chasing, pushing,
in pursuit of
one leaf
to be sucked up into his enormous
truck
which is running
loudly on the street.
a great diesel cloud of black smoke
rises from the exhaust.
it's early. hardly a bird is up.
I watch for a few minutes
then go fix a cup of coffee.
I go back to the window.
he's getting closer
to the truck. inch by inch
the little brown leaf moves
onward. he's
real close. another thirty
minutes and he'll have
the leaf at last.
i'm almost ready to clap.
the love bugs
they were a strange couple.
tethered together by asking
each other
at the crack of dawn,
what and where she we eat today.
her with blue
hair,
him with his guns and plaid array.
her far side
glasses perched low on her nose.
quite the pair. but love has
no eyes. love
hears no words.
love just knows what it knows,
what goes
on in-between
it hardly cares.
tethered together by asking
each other
at the crack of dawn,
what and where she we eat today.
her with blue
hair,
him with his guns and plaid array.
her far side
glasses perched low on her nose.
quite the pair. but love has
no eyes. love
hears no words.
love just knows what it knows,
what goes
on in-between
it hardly cares.
cheek to cheek
we go out dancing.
cheek to cheek, hand in hand.
the rhythm of our
feet
capturing the beat,
the ebb and flow
of strings
the piano. no words are said,
no words are needed.
it's a lovely night, of warmth
of joy
of love
going slow.
dancing cheek to cheek.
cheek to cheek, hand in hand.
the rhythm of our
feet
capturing the beat,
the ebb and flow
of strings
the piano. no words are said,
no words are needed.
it's a lovely night, of warmth
of joy
of love
going slow.
dancing cheek to cheek.
Friday, February 14, 2020
Cherry Pie
I meet this charming southern belle on
a dating site called
daisydukes.com. well not actually
meet her, but
we do the email, texting thing
ad nauseum.
for all I know she could be a freckled
face
teenage boy in his mother's basement
with the door closed.
but we hit if off just the same.
she tells me that if she lived closer,
she'd be all over me
like a chicken on a june bug.
I make a note to look up what a june
bug is.
I know my bugs, but june bug is a new one.
so how are things down south, I ask her.
and she says. things haven't been the same
since the northerners
began their war of aggression
on us.
I tell her, that was a long time ago.
a couple of hundred years. I try to do
the math in my head, but give up.
my daddy says that the south will rise again.
my nickname is dixie, she tells me.
they all sing Dixie for my birthday
instead of the usual happy birthday song.
and by the way, I don't mean any offense,
but Abraham Lincoln wasn't all that!
he had nothing on Jefferson Davis or Bobby Lee.
I don't want to get bogged down
into a political discussion
with her, so I move on
to talking about her pie making skills.
your profile says that you make a mean
cherry pie, I tell her. is that true?
I like that one picture of you holding it
up at the picnic table.
sure nuff, she says. I won the blue ribbon
four years in a row, although I got
beat last year by betty jean mulberry, that tramp
from Atlanta.
you should have seen what she was wearing,
i'm telling you it left no room for imagination.
them judges weren't salivating over her pie,
mind you.
well, if we ever get the chance to meet, maybe
I can sample a slice of your award winning pie.
it would be my pleasure, she says.
i'll bake a whole one just for you.
special, just for you sweetie.
maybe we could meet at the apple butter
festival this year in Winchester?
sure, I tell her. why not.
I like to enter my jams and jellies in their
contests
and my daddy likes to sell his wooden
bowls and big salad forks and spoons
at the festival. he whittles
them out of trees stumps that he finds
in the woods when he's out
possum hunting.
people just
love them wooden bowls.
sounds like a plan, I tell her.
I could use a new bowl.
well, I have to go now, she says.
one of our cows got loose down on the main
road
and I have to go fetch her.
toodle loo sweet potato. you behave
until we meet. followed by six heart emojis,
a dixie flag and a tiny cherry pie.
a dating site called
daisydukes.com. well not actually
meet her, but
we do the email, texting thing
ad nauseum.
for all I know she could be a freckled
face
teenage boy in his mother's basement
with the door closed.
but we hit if off just the same.
she tells me that if she lived closer,
she'd be all over me
like a chicken on a june bug.
I make a note to look up what a june
bug is.
I know my bugs, but june bug is a new one.
so how are things down south, I ask her.
and she says. things haven't been the same
since the northerners
began their war of aggression
on us.
I tell her, that was a long time ago.
a couple of hundred years. I try to do
the math in my head, but give up.
my daddy says that the south will rise again.
my nickname is dixie, she tells me.
they all sing Dixie for my birthday
instead of the usual happy birthday song.
and by the way, I don't mean any offense,
but Abraham Lincoln wasn't all that!
he had nothing on Jefferson Davis or Bobby Lee.
I don't want to get bogged down
into a political discussion
with her, so I move on
to talking about her pie making skills.
your profile says that you make a mean
cherry pie, I tell her. is that true?
I like that one picture of you holding it
up at the picnic table.
sure nuff, she says. I won the blue ribbon
four years in a row, although I got
beat last year by betty jean mulberry, that tramp
from Atlanta.
you should have seen what she was wearing,
i'm telling you it left no room for imagination.
them judges weren't salivating over her pie,
mind you.
well, if we ever get the chance to meet, maybe
I can sample a slice of your award winning pie.
it would be my pleasure, she says.
i'll bake a whole one just for you.
special, just for you sweetie.
maybe we could meet at the apple butter
festival this year in Winchester?
sure, I tell her. why not.
I like to enter my jams and jellies in their
contests
and my daddy likes to sell his wooden
bowls and big salad forks and spoons
at the festival. he whittles
them out of trees stumps that he finds
in the woods when he's out
possum hunting.
people just
love them wooden bowls.
sounds like a plan, I tell her.
I could use a new bowl.
well, I have to go now, she says.
one of our cows got loose down on the main
road
and I have to go fetch her.
toodle loo sweet potato. you behave
until we meet. followed by six heart emojis,
a dixie flag and a tiny cherry pie.
sticky notes
i collect my assortment of yellow
sticky notes
webbed in a pile on my desk
and try to decipher the week
of phone calls.
i need to tell myself to take better
notes.
more detail. time, date, names, numbers.
it's a rubik cube of paper.
i scratch my head.
rub my eyes.
i take a nap.
it'll all sort out in the end.
it always does.
sticky notes
webbed in a pile on my desk
and try to decipher the week
of phone calls.
i need to tell myself to take better
notes.
more detail. time, date, names, numbers.
it's a rubik cube of paper.
i scratch my head.
rub my eyes.
i take a nap.
it'll all sort out in the end.
it always does.
the maddening crowd of one
I love the blah
stretch i'm in.
the kind world
of apathy. the calm relief.
the dull
uneventful
pocket of time I've
come into.
drama less.
word less. the house is at
last a home
once more.
the grandeur of nothing,
nothing but
the pleasant sigh of boredom.
the infinite joy
of quiet.
the satisfaction
of nothing, of no one
needing
or bleeding me
of life. no locked doors.
no hidden agenda.
no thrills. no fear.
far away from the maddening
crowd of one.
stretch i'm in.
the kind world
of apathy. the calm relief.
the dull
uneventful
pocket of time I've
come into.
drama less.
word less. the house is at
last a home
once more.
the grandeur of nothing,
nothing but
the pleasant sigh of boredom.
the infinite joy
of quiet.
the satisfaction
of nothing, of no one
needing
or bleeding me
of life. no locked doors.
no hidden agenda.
no thrills. no fear.
far away from the maddening
crowd of one.
the oil painting
it's an oil painting.
the flea market
has shelves lined with such
portraits. but this one,
thick with paint. alive
with the gossamer
of linseed oil,
the slick veneer is of
a woman in a silk robe,
burgundy like lust, cherries
ripened.
her yellow hair, like grain
bright
and aglow
in some sunlit field.
Nebraska, the Ukraine?
I hold it away from me.
arms length.
the frame is too large,
too heavy,
too ornate
for such simplicity.
paintings like this bring me no
small
dose of pain.
I turn it over for price.
and think
where would I hide it,
or how could I throw it away.
the flea market
has shelves lined with such
portraits. but this one,
thick with paint. alive
with the gossamer
of linseed oil,
the slick veneer is of
a woman in a silk robe,
burgundy like lust, cherries
ripened.
her yellow hair, like grain
bright
and aglow
in some sunlit field.
Nebraska, the Ukraine?
I hold it away from me.
arms length.
the frame is too large,
too heavy,
too ornate
for such simplicity.
paintings like this bring me no
small
dose of pain.
I turn it over for price.
and think
where would I hide it,
or how could I throw it away.
Please, tell me more
I hear the door open.
are you home, she yells up the stairs?
where are you?
in the tub I yell out. soaking.
she comes up and sees me lying back
in a thick
room of steam.
a candle lit, a book, wet on
the floor.
she leans down to kiss me.
and says
have I ever told you how much you
mean to me,
how loved you are,
how much you are adored.
i'm so glad we have each other.
i smile, and pull her towards me.
i kiss her.
my hands on her face.
please, i tell her, please,
tell me more.
are you home, she yells up the stairs?
where are you?
in the tub I yell out. soaking.
she comes up and sees me lying back
in a thick
room of steam.
a candle lit, a book, wet on
the floor.
she leans down to kiss me.
and says
have I ever told you how much you
mean to me,
how loved you are,
how much you are adored.
i'm so glad we have each other.
i smile, and pull her towards me.
i kiss her.
my hands on her face.
please, i tell her, please,
tell me more.
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Mary Triplett's House
the owner of the house
a small indian
man,
older than time itself,
tells me
the story of the crumbling
abode.
it's three hundred years old, he
says.
turning slowly around
with his finger out.
pointing
at a mantle, the staircase,
the planked floors.
it belonged to mary triplett,
he says,
then touches her picture on the wall.
she was the prettiest girl
in the county,
the belle of the ball
he tells me. men dueled
over her
quite often. men died to have her.
I believe him. the portrait
is blurred, but you can see
the fine
lines of her face,
the beauty of her,
the hair thick
and full, piled luxuriously
on her head.
she looks
happy, thrilled perhaps to
be fought over.
would I take a bullet for her,
I think
as he goes on and on
about the house.
i'm not so sure, I've done it
once,
but not again, knowing what
I know now.
a small indian
man,
older than time itself,
tells me
the story of the crumbling
abode.
it's three hundred years old, he
says.
turning slowly around
with his finger out.
pointing
at a mantle, the staircase,
the planked floors.
it belonged to mary triplett,
he says,
then touches her picture on the wall.
she was the prettiest girl
in the county,
the belle of the ball
he tells me. men dueled
over her
quite often. men died to have her.
I believe him. the portrait
is blurred, but you can see
the fine
lines of her face,
the beauty of her,
the hair thick
and full, piled luxuriously
on her head.
she looks
happy, thrilled perhaps to
be fought over.
would I take a bullet for her,
I think
as he goes on and on
about the house.
i'm not so sure, I've done it
once,
but not again, knowing what
I know now.
how memory works
this is how memory works.
it starts like this.
you open the window on a cool
new day
and you smell the beginning of spring.
young leaves, the rich earth
full
and soaked with winter.
there is life in the air.
you think of the first time you were in love.
how beautiful she was.
how young you both were.
the entire world was green.
you stand at the window and look out.
the sky is more blue
than it's ever been.
the clouds more white.
this is how memory works.
again and then again.
it starts like this.
you open the window on a cool
new day
and you smell the beginning of spring.
young leaves, the rich earth
full
and soaked with winter.
there is life in the air.
you think of the first time you were in love.
how beautiful she was.
how young you both were.
the entire world was green.
you stand at the window and look out.
the sky is more blue
than it's ever been.
the clouds more white.
this is how memory works.
again and then again.
writing her a letter
before email,
before computers, before cell phones,
or texting.
before
this world went crazy
and illiterate,
i'd take a pen to paper
and write a letter to a loved one
or a friend.
i'd take my time
and say exactly what I meant.
long hand.
then fold it over and into
the envelope it went.
a stamp licked and pressed
into the corner.
the address affixed.
then i'd drive to the post office
late at night
in the snow. no one else out but me.
I can still see
the flakes
like bright confetti melting
against the glass
as I drove in peace. wanting to
place my letter in the box.
to be read at last.
before computers, before cell phones,
or texting.
before
this world went crazy
and illiterate,
i'd take a pen to paper
and write a letter to a loved one
or a friend.
i'd take my time
and say exactly what I meant.
long hand.
then fold it over and into
the envelope it went.
a stamp licked and pressed
into the corner.
the address affixed.
then i'd drive to the post office
late at night
in the snow. no one else out but me.
I can still see
the flakes
like bright confetti melting
against the glass
as I drove in peace. wanting to
place my letter in the box.
to be read at last.
We Come Close
we come close
at times to pure joy
while on earth.
it may happen in the middle
of a kiss.
the first blush of love,
infatuation.
the thrill of life
is
indescribable when it occurs.
the read book,
the satisfying meal.
a job well done.
helping a stranger, or loved one
without pride.
the poem that fell off your fingers
so easily.
finished before it
began.
making love when in love.
these things are hard to understand,
and no
need to try.
just savor their sweetness,
for they may
never come again.
at times to pure joy
while on earth.
it may happen in the middle
of a kiss.
the first blush of love,
infatuation.
the thrill of life
is
indescribable when it occurs.
the read book,
the satisfying meal.
a job well done.
helping a stranger, or loved one
without pride.
the poem that fell off your fingers
so easily.
finished before it
began.
making love when in love.
these things are hard to understand,
and no
need to try.
just savor their sweetness,
for they may
never come again.
searching
she tells me about how she's looking
for the man of her dreams.
her dream boat, her life boat,
her soul
and cell mate all wrapped into
one fantasy born
in childhood and continues
on from here to
eternity.
I know he's out there just
waiting to be found, my perfect match.
the love of my life.
the man that will complete me.
the one i'll grow old with
and live happily ever after.
and what about you, she says.
what are you looking for?
my car keys, I tell her. I can't find
them anywhere.
for the man of her dreams.
her dream boat, her life boat,
her soul
and cell mate all wrapped into
one fantasy born
in childhood and continues
on from here to
eternity.
I know he's out there just
waiting to be found, my perfect match.
the love of my life.
the man that will complete me.
the one i'll grow old with
and live happily ever after.
and what about you, she says.
what are you looking for?
my car keys, I tell her. I can't find
them anywhere.
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
waiting my turn
while waiting, i take
out my notebook
and write down a few observations.
that woman over there
with that boy.
he has a rash on his wide forehead.
it's hard for me to make
a diagnosis from here,
but i'm thinking poison oak
or ivy.
the man
limping down the hallway,
with the drop step.
sciatica.
someone coughing behind
the closed door. your basic flu.
there's a teenage girl
twitching her leg,
looking at her phone.
could be anything from
pregnancy to restless leg
syndrome.
it's not my turn quite yet.
i have my id cards in hand.
i look at the blue carpet.
the salmon colored walls.
i cross my legs in the stiff chairs.
see the magazines
on the table.
ladies home journal. i don't touch
it.
out my notebook
and write down a few observations.
that woman over there
with that boy.
he has a rash on his wide forehead.
it's hard for me to make
a diagnosis from here,
but i'm thinking poison oak
or ivy.
the man
limping down the hallway,
with the drop step.
sciatica.
someone coughing behind
the closed door. your basic flu.
there's a teenage girl
twitching her leg,
looking at her phone.
could be anything from
pregnancy to restless leg
syndrome.
it's not my turn quite yet.
i have my id cards in hand.
i look at the blue carpet.
the salmon colored walls.
i cross my legs in the stiff chairs.
see the magazines
on the table.
ladies home journal. i don't touch
it.
When the Music Died
there was a short period of time
when there was no music in my house.
no dancing.
no singing.
no television on.
no joy, no fun.
just the eternal gloom and darkness
of a lost soul
invading my life.
I had lost my way.
let myself be dumbstruck
by a fake.
no laughter.
I had somehow been caught
and trapped into
a horror show. a nightmare
unable to wake up
or get out. I look back
at that year, stunned and amazed
at the evil
I let in.
confused and dazed.
each new morning now is a blessing.
a gift to which
I give thanks,
and praise.
when there was no music in my house.
no dancing.
no singing.
no television on.
no joy, no fun.
just the eternal gloom and darkness
of a lost soul
invading my life.
I had lost my way.
let myself be dumbstruck
by a fake.
no laughter.
I had somehow been caught
and trapped into
a horror show. a nightmare
unable to wake up
or get out. I look back
at that year, stunned and amazed
at the evil
I let in.
confused and dazed.
each new morning now is a blessing.
a gift to which
I give thanks,
and praise.
irish beef stew
I ask my therapist to read
some of my
poems.
she says why.
I say why not. I've basically
cut open a vein
on my wrist
and dipped a pen into the pool
of blood.
it's everything you need to know.
from top to bottom
inside out.
I've bared my soul, cut a window
into my heart.
you want childhood, angst,
relationships gone bad.
fear, anger, depression mixed
with anxiety and a dose of madness,
well
there it all is in black and white.
it might save us some time.
okay, she says, nodding in that
mildly
condescending way of hers,
writing something
down on her legal pad.
what are you writing, I ask her,
leaning towards her off the couch,
if you don't mind
sharing.
just making a shopping list.
I was making dinner tonight
and was trying
to remember what I need at the store.
have you ever made irish beef stew?
some of my
poems.
she says why.
I say why not. I've basically
cut open a vein
on my wrist
and dipped a pen into the pool
of blood.
it's everything you need to know.
from top to bottom
inside out.
I've bared my soul, cut a window
into my heart.
you want childhood, angst,
relationships gone bad.
fear, anger, depression mixed
with anxiety and a dose of madness,
well
there it all is in black and white.
it might save us some time.
okay, she says, nodding in that
mildly
condescending way of hers,
writing something
down on her legal pad.
what are you writing, I ask her,
leaning towards her off the couch,
if you don't mind
sharing.
just making a shopping list.
I was making dinner tonight
and was trying
to remember what I need at the store.
have you ever made irish beef stew?
the elephant in the room
there were elephants
in the room.
name a room and dumbo was there.
kitchen.
bedroom.
living room.
you get the idea. I won't
go through the entire
house
naming rooms.
but the elephant was there.
ignored
but present.
big and pink, an enormous
problem
always sitting between
us, quietly
waiting to be heard,
in a wobbly chair.
in the room.
name a room and dumbo was there.
kitchen.
bedroom.
living room.
you get the idea. I won't
go through the entire
house
naming rooms.
but the elephant was there.
ignored
but present.
big and pink, an enormous
problem
always sitting between
us, quietly
waiting to be heard,
in a wobbly chair.
two sweet and lows
the woman
makes me coffee. two sweet and lows?
she says
in her sweet voice.
i'm from the phillipines, she says,
tipping
her man's hat
as she shuffles in her pink
slippers to
the kitchen.
she's beautiful in her old age.
browned
and wrinkled.
a glint of humor, a smidgen
of a life lived
still in her eyes.
behave, I tell her when I leave
for the day.
I only behave when i'm asleep she
says to me,
then waves. tomorrow I make
you coffee
again.
sure, I tell her. two sweet and
lows.
makes me coffee. two sweet and lows?
she says
in her sweet voice.
i'm from the phillipines, she says,
tipping
her man's hat
as she shuffles in her pink
slippers to
the kitchen.
she's beautiful in her old age.
browned
and wrinkled.
a glint of humor, a smidgen
of a life lived
still in her eyes.
behave, I tell her when I leave
for the day.
I only behave when i'm asleep she
says to me,
then waves. tomorrow I make
you coffee
again.
sure, I tell her. two sweet and
lows.
Tuesday, February 11, 2020
almost a friend
he was Shakespearean
in nature,
and by that I mean fully fleshed
out
in character.
there was no doubt
as to who he was, the role
he played.
bigger than life,
and bigger, he thought,
in death,
but untrue.
how he drank and ate,
held
the table
with ribald tales,
each story came back
around to him.
boisterous, loud
and large.
stop me if you've heard
this one, which didn't matter,
because you were about
to hear it again.
he was the sun.
no lesser planet
was he,
no moon. no melting star,
at times he almost
seemed
like a friend.
in nature,
and by that I mean fully fleshed
out
in character.
there was no doubt
as to who he was, the role
he played.
bigger than life,
and bigger, he thought,
in death,
but untrue.
how he drank and ate,
held
the table
with ribald tales,
each story came back
around to him.
boisterous, loud
and large.
stop me if you've heard
this one, which didn't matter,
because you were about
to hear it again.
he was the sun.
no lesser planet
was he,
no moon. no melting star,
at times he almost
seemed
like a friend.
come spring
the stitch of
trees, unleafed, withered
in
the depths
of winter
without bird
or green,
the bark
like skin tired
of it all.
the slow parade
of snow
and wind.
but undead. as undead
as we are.
let's start,
like them
again, come spring.
trees, unleafed, withered
in
the depths
of winter
without bird
or green,
the bark
like skin tired
of it all.
the slow parade
of snow
and wind.
but undead. as undead
as we are.
let's start,
like them
again, come spring.
those were the days
i remember the time she bought
me a pair
of red silk
underpants for valentine's day
and i bought her
a complete outfit
of stockings, heels,
and seductively sheer
lingerie. there may have
been a riding crop
involved, but i'm not sure.
costumes for the night
as we drank champagne
and ate lobster.
blocking off the stairs
so that the kid
couldn't come down and ruin
our amorous holiday.
the next day, as he was
eating his cereal, he
looked up at me and said,
why was mommy screaming
last night. i couldn't
sleep.
oh my, i said. i
don't know, maybe it was
just a bad dream.
he let it go at that
thankfully,
those were the days.
me a pair
of red silk
underpants for valentine's day
and i bought her
a complete outfit
of stockings, heels,
and seductively sheer
lingerie. there may have
been a riding crop
involved, but i'm not sure.
costumes for the night
as we drank champagne
and ate lobster.
blocking off the stairs
so that the kid
couldn't come down and ruin
our amorous holiday.
the next day, as he was
eating his cereal, he
looked up at me and said,
why was mommy screaming
last night. i couldn't
sleep.
oh my, i said. i
don't know, maybe it was
just a bad dream.
he let it go at that
thankfully,
those were the days.
the soft rain
it's a soft rain.
the tinkle of ivories
falling
from the sky.
the anticipation of green
amongst the grey
stalks of lonesome trees.
it's a fine
silt of moisture
falling from
the blanket of grey.
it's okay.
we won't melt, we're
not made
of sugar, you whisper
taking my arm
to walk me away.
the tinkle of ivories
falling
from the sky.
the anticipation of green
amongst the grey
stalks of lonesome trees.
it's a fine
silt of moisture
falling from
the blanket of grey.
it's okay.
we won't melt, we're
not made
of sugar, you whisper
taking my arm
to walk me away.
quarantined on the Aegean Sea
we were quarantined
in our cabin as the ship sailed
along
the Aegean Sea.
I mistakenly asked the ship's
doctor for
some pepto bismol
after the long flight
and eating nuts
and crackers,
and the next thing you know
we were
under lock and key
with a guard at the door.
they took our blood for two
days and finally
gave us a clean bill of health.
but it was a long two
days in captivity since
the person I was with forgot
to take her pills.
her crazy meds. and her therapist
was ten thousand miles
away, so I had to
sleep with one eye open
and with a butter knife
in hand.
in our cabin as the ship sailed
along
the Aegean Sea.
I mistakenly asked the ship's
doctor for
some pepto bismol
after the long flight
and eating nuts
and crackers,
and the next thing you know
we were
under lock and key
with a guard at the door.
they took our blood for two
days and finally
gave us a clean bill of health.
but it was a long two
days in captivity since
the person I was with forgot
to take her pills.
her crazy meds. and her therapist
was ten thousand miles
away, so I had to
sleep with one eye open
and with a butter knife
in hand.
the other foot
the other foot drops.
you were waiting for it
for a very long time
and finally
it arrived. the thud of the boot,
the closing
of the door.
what you once feared
is now
embraced with joy.
the other foot has fallen
you fear
nothing
anymore.
you were waiting for it
for a very long time
and finally
it arrived. the thud of the boot,
the closing
of the door.
what you once feared
is now
embraced with joy.
the other foot has fallen
you fear
nothing
anymore.
Monday, February 10, 2020
the library in Ephesus
we were in Turkey
at the time
seeing the sights. the trip
was full
of religious discussion.
her saying, it's all a myth.
they didn't
even have books back then.
or paper.
no one even knew how to write.
within minutes, the travel
guide
was schooling
on what we were looking at.
an enormous library at Ephesus
the stone
structure
crumbling, but in place.
which made me turn to her,
and comment, saying how
interesting,
they built a library before
they even invented books.
it didn't go well from there.
at the time
seeing the sights. the trip
was full
of religious discussion.
her saying, it's all a myth.
they didn't
even have books back then.
or paper.
no one even knew how to write.
within minutes, the travel
guide
was schooling
on what we were looking at.
an enormous library at Ephesus
the stone
structure
crumbling, but in place.
which made me turn to her,
and comment, saying how
interesting,
they built a library before
they even invented books.
it didn't go well from there.
the dark side of the moon
the moon splashes
its
light which doesn't belong
to it,
not really,
the sun is sharing what it has
across the coin
of dust
and rocks,
craters.
shiny remnants of vistors
past.
but she's full, this orb.
this thief of light.
a wife.
a glow. an image.
we're in love, me and this moon.
this pure
object
of desire.
not real, the heart says.
not real.
the dark side, is her true
self.
not what's in
your sight.
its
light which doesn't belong
to it,
not really,
the sun is sharing what it has
across the coin
of dust
and rocks,
craters.
shiny remnants of vistors
past.
but she's full, this orb.
this thief of light.
a wife.
a glow. an image.
we're in love, me and this moon.
this pure
object
of desire.
not real, the heart says.
not real.
the dark side, is her true
self.
not what's in
your sight.
the newspaper blues
the sunday paper stinks
these days.
thin, hardly any news you've never
heard before
twenty times over
what with television
and social media.
you don't read the comics.
or the tv guide.
the lame parade magazine is
the size of a slice of bread now.
the editorials are slanted
so far left,
slightly right of
socialism.
the sports page is exactly
one page.
highlights. scores
and schedules.
everything you already have
on your phone.
the paper stinks, but I still
buy it. at least the ink
doesn't run in
your hands anymore.
I like to sit with a cup
of coffee pretending to be
a grown up,
and lick my fingers as
I peruse, then
turn each page.
these days.
thin, hardly any news you've never
heard before
twenty times over
what with television
and social media.
you don't read the comics.
or the tv guide.
the lame parade magazine is
the size of a slice of bread now.
the editorials are slanted
so far left,
slightly right of
socialism.
the sports page is exactly
one page.
highlights. scores
and schedules.
everything you already have
on your phone.
the paper stinks, but I still
buy it. at least the ink
doesn't run in
your hands anymore.
I like to sit with a cup
of coffee pretending to be
a grown up,
and lick my fingers as
I peruse, then
turn each page.
lying on the internet? no way
I can't remember how old I am
anymore.
I've put down so many different ages
over the years
on dating sites.
lied through my teeth about height
and weight.
the number of marriages, kids and money.
i'm actually an 80 year old man in solitary
confinement
in prison for
embezzling funds
from senior citizens. maybe.
i'm a doctor, a lawyer, I take
care of animals at the zoo.
i'm all about family.
I love babies and kittens
and cuddling. I can't wait
to meet your children.
my photos are air brushed.
all of them glamor shots from jc penny's.
i'm a Rhodes scholar.
i'm a barker at the carnival.
I can sell ice to the eskimos.
I have four or five different names,
all with a passport.
I'm wanted by the police, I am the police.
i'm Italian, French and from new jersey
half the time. I know people.
I own a liquor store, I have a white
Cadillac and a boat the size of the president's
ego.
i'm rich. I wear a toupee. I've had
plastic surgery and a tummy
tuck.
my wife is dead, but not literally.
i'm from Nigeria and want to borrow money.
i'm a fourteen year old boy
in my mother's basement with the door
closed.
I cry at movies on the hallmark
channel. I've been a vegetarian for
three days now. we're so alike.
i'm a cowboy, a gambler, a senator
from North Dakota.
my face belongs to someone else these
days.
you can call me johnny, or joe,
or jim,
or jack, or even marge, as I was
at one stage. I couldn't decide.
I like to dress up in women's clothing
when the weather's nice.
but I box too. marital arts and
karate. i'm catholic, budhhist, i'm
a converted jew.
I have only one tattoo
which covers my entire back, but
I've left room for you.
I like to cook. I own a restaurant.
I just got back from paris and before that
I was an astronaut
going to the moon.
some of this is a lie, some of it
is true. it's the internet, come on,
lying is what we do.
anymore.
I've put down so many different ages
over the years
on dating sites.
lied through my teeth about height
and weight.
the number of marriages, kids and money.
i'm actually an 80 year old man in solitary
confinement
in prison for
embezzling funds
from senior citizens. maybe.
i'm a doctor, a lawyer, I take
care of animals at the zoo.
i'm all about family.
I love babies and kittens
and cuddling. I can't wait
to meet your children.
my photos are air brushed.
all of them glamor shots from jc penny's.
i'm a Rhodes scholar.
i'm a barker at the carnival.
I can sell ice to the eskimos.
I have four or five different names,
all with a passport.
I'm wanted by the police, I am the police.
i'm Italian, French and from new jersey
half the time. I know people.
I own a liquor store, I have a white
Cadillac and a boat the size of the president's
ego.
i'm rich. I wear a toupee. I've had
plastic surgery and a tummy
tuck.
my wife is dead, but not literally.
i'm from Nigeria and want to borrow money.
i'm a fourteen year old boy
in my mother's basement with the door
closed.
I cry at movies on the hallmark
channel. I've been a vegetarian for
three days now. we're so alike.
i'm a cowboy, a gambler, a senator
from North Dakota.
my face belongs to someone else these
days.
you can call me johnny, or joe,
or jim,
or jack, or even marge, as I was
at one stage. I couldn't decide.
I like to dress up in women's clothing
when the weather's nice.
but I box too. marital arts and
karate. i'm catholic, budhhist, i'm
a converted jew.
I have only one tattoo
which covers my entire back, but
I've left room for you.
I like to cook. I own a restaurant.
I just got back from paris and before that
I was an astronaut
going to the moon.
some of this is a lie, some of it
is true. it's the internet, come on,
lying is what we do.
The Long Vacation
I think about joining the space
program.
just to get out of town for a few weeks.
go someplace new.
get away from the ex-wives
and their lawyers.
have an adventure, to mars,
or back to the moon.
but I worry about the lack
of air there.
the lack of bathroom facilities.
it's like going to Greece or Venice,
and you can't
find a
starbuck's anywhere.
you can't get a coffee to go,
God forbid
you take your cup
and leave the premises,
after all we did for them
in world war two. pffft.
but Mars could be fun.
I like tang, and little space
sandwiches made
at mission control.
little space treats, protein
bars and what not.
it's a long trip, so I could
finally catch up on my reading.
It's not like I don't have
astronaut skills.
I could do the count down.
ten, nine, eight...etc.
i'm pretty good with numbers.
program.
just to get out of town for a few weeks.
go someplace new.
get away from the ex-wives
and their lawyers.
have an adventure, to mars,
or back to the moon.
but I worry about the lack
of air there.
the lack of bathroom facilities.
it's like going to Greece or Venice,
and you can't
find a
starbuck's anywhere.
you can't get a coffee to go,
God forbid
you take your cup
and leave the premises,
after all we did for them
in world war two. pffft.
but Mars could be fun.
I like tang, and little space
sandwiches made
at mission control.
little space treats, protein
bars and what not.
it's a long trip, so I could
finally catch up on my reading.
It's not like I don't have
astronaut skills.
I could do the count down.
ten, nine, eight...etc.
i'm pretty good with numbers.
after momma left
I used to like the farm
life.
me and my cows, goats, chickens.
the cats to keep the mice
out of the barn.
the plow horse, Billy.
hearing the rooster crow
at the break of dawn.
I used to enjoy plowing the lower
forty.
harvesting the alfalfa
and corn, but since momma
ran
off with the fuller brush man,
it don't seem
the same anymore.
I just don't have that get up
and go.
it got up and went and now
without momma, life's
one
big chore.
life.
me and my cows, goats, chickens.
the cats to keep the mice
out of the barn.
the plow horse, Billy.
hearing the rooster crow
at the break of dawn.
I used to enjoy plowing the lower
forty.
harvesting the alfalfa
and corn, but since momma
ran
off with the fuller brush man,
it don't seem
the same anymore.
I just don't have that get up
and go.
it got up and went and now
without momma, life's
one
big chore.
Sunday, February 9, 2020
the number one
give me three eggs over easy
I tell the waitress
in her pink dress, a color that
hurts my eyes
at this early hour.
not unlike the color of my
own eyes.
if my mouth wasn't so dry,
and I didn't have a headache
I might actually try and flirt
with her.
she looks to be my age within a few
decades or so.
bacon, I tell her. six strips,
crispy, none of that soft
and floppy bacon, please.
wheat toast, butter, jam
and coffee.
two waffles too, with syrup.
keep the coffee coming.
rough night, she asks, taking
the pencil out from behind
her ear and hair.
sort of I tell her. sort of.
did I mention hash browns.
no, you didn't.
well, I want those too. lots
of onions and slice
up some jalapeno
peppers, if you can manage
that. and orange juice, no pulp.
and three Tylenols, no aspirin,
i'm allergic to aspirin.
okay, she says. so you want the number
one.
I look at her and laugh.
yes.
yes, give me the number one.
you got it hon. be right back
with your coffee.
I tell the waitress
in her pink dress, a color that
hurts my eyes
at this early hour.
not unlike the color of my
own eyes.
if my mouth wasn't so dry,
and I didn't have a headache
I might actually try and flirt
with her.
she looks to be my age within a few
decades or so.
bacon, I tell her. six strips,
crispy, none of that soft
and floppy bacon, please.
wheat toast, butter, jam
and coffee.
two waffles too, with syrup.
keep the coffee coming.
rough night, she asks, taking
the pencil out from behind
her ear and hair.
sort of I tell her. sort of.
did I mention hash browns.
no, you didn't.
well, I want those too. lots
of onions and slice
up some jalapeno
peppers, if you can manage
that. and orange juice, no pulp.
and three Tylenols, no aspirin,
i'm allergic to aspirin.
okay, she says. so you want the number
one.
I look at her and laugh.
yes.
yes, give me the number one.
you got it hon. be right back
with your coffee.
the long gloves
there was a time
when sophisticated women wore
long gloves.
thin and tight,
maybe they still do
on park, or Madison, or
5th avenue.
haven't been there in a while.
but the long gloves were
a fashion.
white, or black, stretched out
over a long slender arm,
ala Audrey hepurn, or
liz taylor
perhaps.
it wasn't so much to keep
the cold out.
it was more of a statement.
I can see them now, a cigarette
in a holder,
elbow bent
with eyes a flutter.
a cat like smile
in place, the ribbons
of smoke about them.
cool and reflective,
so confident with those long
gloves on.
when sophisticated women wore
long gloves.
thin and tight,
maybe they still do
on park, or Madison, or
5th avenue.
haven't been there in a while.
but the long gloves were
a fashion.
white, or black, stretched out
over a long slender arm,
ala Audrey hepurn, or
liz taylor
perhaps.
it wasn't so much to keep
the cold out.
it was more of a statement.
I can see them now, a cigarette
in a holder,
elbow bent
with eyes a flutter.
a cat like smile
in place, the ribbons
of smoke about them.
cool and reflective,
so confident with those long
gloves on.
Saturday, February 8, 2020
hello darkness, my old friend
we used to greet him
with the words
from a paul simon song,
hello
darkness,
my old friend.
he could see the cloud
in
any silver lining.
the joy
in any pain.
the fun in any catastrophe.
he actually
liked
being in the Vietnam
war.
the jungle,
the killing,
the mines and mortars,
the choppers
flying about.
bankruptcy, no problem.
divorce.
jail.
a heart attack, whoopee.
no problem.
you had to love him.
he could make
it rain
on just about any sunny
day. wherever you
are today,
hello darkness,
my old friend.
with the words
from a paul simon song,
hello
darkness,
my old friend.
he could see the cloud
in
any silver lining.
the joy
in any pain.
the fun in any catastrophe.
he actually
liked
being in the Vietnam
war.
the jungle,
the killing,
the mines and mortars,
the choppers
flying about.
bankruptcy, no problem.
divorce.
jail.
a heart attack, whoopee.
no problem.
you had to love him.
he could make
it rain
on just about any sunny
day. wherever you
are today,
hello darkness,
my old friend.
help get me out
some people can't be helped.
you get close
to
the pool of quicksand they are
stuck in,
struggling since childhood.
you throw them a rope,
but it's not enough.
they want you to come in
and help
drag them out. they want
to take
your hand,
and let you sink down with
them.
in the past you would.
you'd be
suckered in, being the empath
and person
that you are.
rescuing the wounded is
your mission in life,
it seems.
others in distress
breaks your heart,
but this time, you say no.
take the rope
and pull
your self out. I won't
go in, this is all on you.
not me, not ever again.
you get close
to
the pool of quicksand they are
stuck in,
struggling since childhood.
you throw them a rope,
but it's not enough.
they want you to come in
and help
drag them out. they want
to take
your hand,
and let you sink down with
them.
in the past you would.
you'd be
suckered in, being the empath
and person
that you are.
rescuing the wounded is
your mission in life,
it seems.
others in distress
breaks your heart,
but this time, you say no.
take the rope
and pull
your self out. I won't
go in, this is all on you.
not me, not ever again.
the devil's box
you grow weary of cell phones.
the constant
beep
and ring of them all.
the addiction.
the need to look and look
to see who is there,
while the person you're
sitting
with
doesn't matter as much.
it's the ones in the phone
that count most.
holding them close to the vest.
cradled in hand.
sleeping with them
like metallic lovers,
texting incessantly, emojis,
links,
emails
and the rest.
they're adored,
this little box
of technology gone amok,
all warm and fuzzy, buzzing.
they are the best, real people
who are present,
are out of luck.
the constant
beep
and ring of them all.
the addiction.
the need to look and look
to see who is there,
while the person you're
sitting
with
doesn't matter as much.
it's the ones in the phone
that count most.
holding them close to the vest.
cradled in hand.
sleeping with them
like metallic lovers,
texting incessantly, emojis,
links,
emails
and the rest.
they're adored,
this little box
of technology gone amok,
all warm and fuzzy, buzzing.
they are the best, real people
who are present,
are out of luck.
the loose thread
we all have loose threads,
small
strands of our past
or present
susceptible of being pulled
and having
it all come undone,
unraveled.
the truth at last, exposed.
there is so much more to us
than
what meets the eye.
for better or worse.
small
strands of our past
or present
susceptible of being pulled
and having
it all come undone,
unraveled.
the truth at last, exposed.
there is so much more to us
than
what meets the eye.
for better or worse.
Father George and the New Confessional
I stop by the old church
to see how things are going.
the priest, Father George, sees me
and throws his hands into the air,
and to what do we owe
this great honor, he says,
rushing over
to give me an uncomfortable hug.
uh, just passing by,
I wanted to see my old pew where
I used to sit nervously
in a state of anxiety, twitching,
with the ex-wife.
come on in, come in.
would you like me to take your
confession? we just renovated
the confessional booth.
mahogany, with new
plush cushion for those long
confessions,
one hundred per cent
cotton, cardinal red.
the kneeler is made of memory
foam.
i'm telling you, the new booth
is something to behold.
to see how things are going.
the priest, Father George, sees me
and throws his hands into the air,
and to what do we owe
this great honor, he says,
rushing over
to give me an uncomfortable hug.
uh, just passing by,
I wanted to see my old pew where
I used to sit nervously
in a state of anxiety, twitching,
with the ex-wife.
come on in, come in.
would you like me to take your
confession? we just renovated
the confessional booth.
mahogany, with new
plush cushion for those long
confessions,
one hundred per cent
cotton, cardinal red.
the kneeler is made of memory
foam.
i'm telling you, the new booth
is something to behold.
sound proof.
it even has wi-fi and blue tooth.
it's very comfortable in there.
in fact one of our parishioners
fell asleep in the middle
of her confession,
just as she was getting to the good
stuff.
he gives me a wide smile
beneath his thick beard, showing
the large gap between his front teeth.
nah, I don't have that many hours,
I've got a date tonight with
an unregistered nurse in Baltimore,
she's working her way
through med school as a dancer.
maybe another time.
oh my, do tell, he says, scratching
at his beard. a dancer, you say?
how is the ex by the way,
you had your own personal road
to Damascus with
that one, didn't you?
he swirls his finger around
his ear then crosses himself.
who knows, I tell him. who cares,
out of sight, out of mind.
ha, he says, good for you, don't
look back. I think the apostle Paul
said that.
no, that was Bob Dylan, I tell him.
oh, yeah, right, I get the two mixed
up sometimes. oh well.
it even has wi-fi and blue tooth.
it's very comfortable in there.
in fact one of our parishioners
fell asleep in the middle
of her confession,
just as she was getting to the good
stuff.
he gives me a wide smile
beneath his thick beard, showing
the large gap between his front teeth.
nah, I don't have that many hours,
I've got a date tonight with
an unregistered nurse in Baltimore,
she's working her way
through med school as a dancer.
maybe another time.
oh my, do tell, he says, scratching
at his beard. a dancer, you say?
how is the ex by the way,
you had your own personal road
to Damascus with
that one, didn't you?
he swirls his finger around
his ear then crosses himself.
who knows, I tell him. who cares,
out of sight, out of mind.
ha, he says, good for you, don't
look back. I think the apostle Paul
said that.
no, that was Bob Dylan, I tell him.
oh, yeah, right, I get the two mixed
up sometimes. oh well.
are you hungry, thirsty?
we just opened up a new box
of wafers, straight from
the Vatican, red wine? he says,
then laughs, just kidding,
but we do have some snacks
we just opened up a new box
of wafers, straight from
the Vatican, red wine? he says,
then laughs, just kidding,
but we do have some snacks
in the lunch room.
low carb, no sugar, he says, we're
all giving that keto thing a try.
I could fry us up a pound of bacon?
Father Smith lost fifteen pounds
the first week. we had to get
him a new gown, he was floating
in the old one. He actually had a smile
on his face. It's the happiest
low carb, no sugar, he says, we're
all giving that keto thing a try.
I could fry us up a pound of bacon?
Father Smith lost fifteen pounds
the first week. we had to get
him a new gown, he was floating
in the old one. He actually had a smile
on his face. It's the happiest
i've seen him since the new
altar boys arrived last summer.
i'm good, I tell him, real good,
well, you know what I mean.
i'm not literally good, I tell him,
using air quotes around the word
good, because we're all sinners, right?
that's right original sin starts
at birth, the second you take that
first gulp of air, you're pretty
much going to hell in a hand basket.
those are the rules, sorry Charlie.
well, if it's okay with you,
i'll just go sit in my
old pew for a few minutes,
we've got some guitar players
coming in from Brazil,
well, you know what I mean.
i'm not literally good, I tell him,
using air quotes around the word
good, because we're all sinners, right?
that's right original sin starts
at birth, the second you take that
first gulp of air, you're pretty
much going to hell in a hand basket.
those are the rules, sorry Charlie.
well, if it's okay with you,
i'll just go sit in my
old pew for a few minutes,
reminisce a bit, I tell him.
sure, sure. go on in.
kneel and pray if you'd like.
talk to the old man, he says,
pointing upwards.
good to see you again my son.
see you on sunday?
kneel and pray if you'd like.
talk to the old man, he says,
pointing upwards.
good to see you again my son.
see you on sunday?
we've got some guitar players
coming in from Brazil,
and some bongo players from Cuba,
it should be a great mass.
Sister Rosemary
has been practicing a new hip
hop conversion of an old hymn.
Rock of Ages,
you'll love it. it gets
the crowd jumping.
I don't know, I tell him.
maybe. i'm kind of into an R and B
mood these days,.
has been practicing a new hip
hop conversion of an old hymn.
Rock of Ages,
you'll love it. it gets
the crowd jumping.
I don't know, I tell him.
maybe. i'm kind of into an R and B
mood these days,.
you know Al Green, Marvin
Gaye, that sort of thing. we'll see.
Friday, February 7, 2020
happy hours
i remember happy
hour.
actually is was happy six or seven
hours
after work, a short drive
from the office.
tie on,
a cheap coat from Simm's
wearhouse.
the johnny carson suit with
a fat tie
and wide lapels,
or was it a thin tie,
with thin lapels, who knows.
the nineteen eighties are a blur.
but we drank, we sang, we told
stories.
we embellished.
we flirted and misbehaved as much
as possible
without breaking the city laws.
hoping to get lucky
with some
girl on the other side of the bar.
sending her over a whole
draft beer in a glass, no less.
we'd take a lap around
and say clever pick up lines like,
hey. what's up?
come here often?
we drank one dirty mother after the other.
large mugs of white Russians.
eating
loaded potato skins
with sour cream and bacon.
onion rings
and greasy burgers.
we were a mess. mangling
born to run,
or love me tender by elvis
at the top of our
lungs,
or Alison by
elvis Costello. but we were
young, foolish,
desk jockeys in brown shoes,
and a small paycheck about to be
half spent.
hour.
actually is was happy six or seven
hours
after work, a short drive
from the office.
tie on,
a cheap coat from Simm's
wearhouse.
the johnny carson suit with
a fat tie
and wide lapels,
or was it a thin tie,
with thin lapels, who knows.
the nineteen eighties are a blur.
but we drank, we sang, we told
stories.
we embellished.
we flirted and misbehaved as much
as possible
without breaking the city laws.
hoping to get lucky
with some
girl on the other side of the bar.
sending her over a whole
draft beer in a glass, no less.
we'd take a lap around
and say clever pick up lines like,
hey. what's up?
come here often?
we drank one dirty mother after the other.
large mugs of white Russians.
eating
loaded potato skins
with sour cream and bacon.
onion rings
and greasy burgers.
we were a mess. mangling
born to run,
or love me tender by elvis
at the top of our
lungs,
or Alison by
elvis Costello. but we were
young, foolish,
desk jockeys in brown shoes,
and a small paycheck about to be
half spent.
Her Secret Life
her life was full of secrets.
the hidden phone,
the closet full of hidden notes
and rings
and clothes.
the hidden scale.
the hidden
cards and letters.
the secret post office box.
the secret rendezvous.
the secret tree
in the woods.
the secret
texts.
the hidden health issues.
the secret
laxatives
and pills.
the hidden pictures.
the secret
lovers, the secret
food,
the secret books
and magazines.
the secret videos.
the whispers behind
closed doors.
the stalking, the searching,
the constant
hypervigilance
about everything.
she was a shut book.
a dark tomb. paranoid
and scared.
a black heart full
of secrets
and gloom.
the hidden phone,
the closet full of hidden notes
and rings
and clothes.
the hidden scale.
the hidden
cards and letters.
the secret post office box.
the secret rendezvous.
the secret tree
in the woods.
the secret
texts.
the hidden health issues.
the secret
laxatives
and pills.
the hidden pictures.
the secret
lovers, the secret
food,
the secret books
and magazines.
the secret videos.
the whispers behind
closed doors.
the stalking, the searching,
the constant
hypervigilance
about everything.
she was a shut book.
a dark tomb. paranoid
and scared.
a black heart full
of secrets
and gloom.
the clean slate
clean
slates are nice.
to wipe the board. to erase.
to sweep
and dust.
to eradicate and flush.
to start anew.
driving fast and far
from what was.
the sweet fresh smell of
a new day.
a spring in your step.
a grin,
a smile. back to your old
self.
the clean slate is nice.
a new start.
slates are nice.
to wipe the board. to erase.
to sweep
and dust.
to eradicate and flush.
to start anew.
driving fast and far
from what was.
the sweet fresh smell of
a new day.
a spring in your step.
a grin,
a smile. back to your old
self.
the clean slate is nice.
a new start.
Charm School
beware of charm.
beware of those who smile
and
accommodate
that bend
to your desires, your
needs
your wants. don't listen
to the siren
voice, don't look at what
lies outside.
slowly you will fall into
their web.
there is only one way
they
can capture you and that's
pretending to be
who they aren't, by
using
charm to the nth degree.
don't fall for it.
if they showed you their
true self
they'd have no chance
at gaining
a new supply of love
and admiration, adding you into
their
sick harem of weak men.
don't be a fly.
don't be a bug caught
inside the living hell
that is their life.
beware of those who smile
and
accommodate
that bend
to your desires, your
needs
your wants. don't listen
to the siren
voice, don't look at what
lies outside.
slowly you will fall into
their web.
there is only one way
they
can capture you and that's
pretending to be
who they aren't, by
using
charm to the nth degree.
don't fall for it.
if they showed you their
true self
they'd have no chance
at gaining
a new supply of love
and admiration, adding you into
their
sick harem of weak men.
don't be a fly.
don't be a bug caught
inside the living hell
that is their life.
keto madness
coffee is good for you.
no it's bad.
red meat good. tomorrow bad.
no milk.
no bread.
no pasta.
no fish full of mercury.
no potatoes.
no donuts. no potato
chips.
no vegetable oils.
no cake. no ice cream.
i'm starving and dying a slow
unhappy death
chewing on tree bark
and eating eggs.
I want a pizza covered
in sausage and cheese
so bad.
no it's bad.
red meat good. tomorrow bad.
no milk.
no bread.
no pasta.
no fish full of mercury.
no potatoes.
no donuts. no potato
chips.
no vegetable oils.
no cake. no ice cream.
i'm starving and dying a slow
unhappy death
chewing on tree bark
and eating eggs.
I want a pizza covered
in sausage and cheese
so bad.
the snake skin
I find an old snake
skin
in the basement.
a serpent has crawled in,
shed one of her other selves.
and vanished into thin air,
finding
the smallest of cracks
in the house
to get out.
what else did she leave
behind?
a tube of lipstick,
and a mirror,
the echo of lies,
is all I can find.
skin
in the basement.
a serpent has crawled in,
shed one of her other selves.
and vanished into thin air,
finding
the smallest of cracks
in the house
to get out.
what else did she leave
behind?
a tube of lipstick,
and a mirror,
the echo of lies,
is all I can find.
maybe in the morning she says
we used to make love in the morning.
both too tired
at night to make any romantic
moves.
we're old, I guess.
the thought crosses our mind
at midnight,
a kiss, a casual grope,
a wink,
or suggestive pose
but we brush our teeth
get out of our clothes,
set the alarm,
check our email and before you
know it,
one or the other has dozed
off and so there it goes.
both too tired
at night to make any romantic
moves.
we're old, I guess.
the thought crosses our mind
at midnight,
a kiss, a casual grope,
a wink,
or suggestive pose
but we brush our teeth
get out of our clothes,
set the alarm,
check our email and before you
know it,
one or the other has dozed
off and so there it goes.
the early morning storm
it's a lovely
early morning storm.
sheets of silver rain, cold
and hard
blow across the window panes.
the colors
of the woods, streaked
in a magnificent work of art.
nature
at its finest.
dabbling with brush
and wind.
the bare trees, grey and brown,
the ancient sky
low and rumbling.
i'll sit and watch until
it's time to go,
but for now. i'll sit by
a window,
crack it slightly to listen
and watch
the show.
early morning storm.
sheets of silver rain, cold
and hard
blow across the window panes.
the colors
of the woods, streaked
in a magnificent work of art.
nature
at its finest.
dabbling with brush
and wind.
the bare trees, grey and brown,
the ancient sky
low and rumbling.
i'll sit and watch until
it's time to go,
but for now. i'll sit by
a window,
crack it slightly to listen
and watch
the show.
how can you write such a thing
I read your poem
about the state of the union, she writes,
and i'm
so sorry that you
are in such a bad frame of mind.
who's hurt you
for you to write such
mean and unkind
things?
she loves her country.
she's red white and blue.
she'll vote again for the king.
she loves
her country club,
her cars, her bling.
how can you say that things
aren't good.
the stock market is booming.
I have all the botox
and i'll ever need.
we just bought a new boat.
we're going to Europe
in the spring.
our beach house is grand.
our chef is amazing.
we can't wait to open up the pool
and have you
over for a party
to celebrate four more years
in a landslide win.
about the state of the union, she writes,
and i'm
so sorry that you
are in such a bad frame of mind.
who's hurt you
for you to write such
mean and unkind
things?
she loves her country.
she's red white and blue.
she'll vote again for the king.
she loves
her country club,
her cars, her bling.
how can you say that things
aren't good.
the stock market is booming.
I have all the botox
and i'll ever need.
we just bought a new boat.
we're going to Europe
in the spring.
our beach house is grand.
our chef is amazing.
we can't wait to open up the pool
and have you
over for a party
to celebrate four more years
in a landslide win.
Thursday, February 6, 2020
the oriental rug
he tells me the story
of his oriental
rug.
how he haggled the price,
felt it,
smelled the fibers,
turned it over,
stood back
and nodded, nice.
he told me how
he can tell the difference
between
the real thing
and fake.
no machine made for him.
I've been to turkey, he tells
me,
Istanbul,
Greece.
I know a good rug when I see
it.
please, take off your shoes,
the socks off your
feet,
be careful and
let's walk a around it,
I just had it cleaned.
of his oriental
rug.
how he haggled the price,
felt it,
smelled the fibers,
turned it over,
stood back
and nodded, nice.
he told me how
he can tell the difference
between
the real thing
and fake.
no machine made for him.
I've been to turkey, he tells
me,
Istanbul,
Greece.
I know a good rug when I see
it.
please, take off your shoes,
the socks off your
feet,
be careful and
let's walk a around it,
I just had it cleaned.
A good year for the roses
it's a good
year for the roses.
look how bright they are.
the petals
flush with color.
rich in
red
and gold,
white
and bronze.
i'll pick a dozen for
the one i love.
place them in a crystal
and carry them to
her,
set them on her porch,
if she hasn't yet
moved on.
year for the roses.
look how bright they are.
the petals
flush with color.
rich in
red
and gold,
white
and bronze.
i'll pick a dozen for
the one i love.
place them in a crystal
and carry them to
her,
set them on her porch,
if she hasn't yet
moved on.
the ball turret gunner
she couldn't sleep.
guilt, shame, distress.
hunger.
worry, fear.
regret.
the list went on and on.
so she'd take
an ambien or two
with a glass of wine.
and out she'd go
into hibernation for eight
straight
hours,
curled in a defensive
position
beneath the blanket.
a clenched fist of a body,
arms wrapped
around her legs
and boney torso.
knit tight in her
self made womb,
not unlike the ball turret
gunner
in the belly of a B-52 bomber
over berlin.
finally still
and free from reality
and dreams.
almost dead, but not quite.
guilt, shame, distress.
hunger.
worry, fear.
regret.
the list went on and on.
so she'd take
an ambien or two
with a glass of wine.
and out she'd go
into hibernation for eight
straight
hours,
curled in a defensive
position
beneath the blanket.
a clenched fist of a body,
arms wrapped
around her legs
and boney torso.
knit tight in her
self made womb,
not unlike the ball turret
gunner
in the belly of a B-52 bomber
over berlin.
finally still
and free from reality
and dreams.
almost dead, but not quite.
southern hospitality
I remember the time
I moved
into
a new neighborhood
and a woman showed up at the door
with a giant
pan of
tuna casserole.
you shouldn't have, I told
her.
welcome to the neighborhood,
she said
and smiled, straining
her neck into my house
to look around.
are you all alone, here,
she said in that southern
sort of gentile way.
a man all alone in this big
ole house? my oh my.
what a shame.
well, yeah, sort of, I told her,
trying to close the door.
just wanted to say howdy
new neighbor.
enjoy the casserole.
just stop by with the dish
when you're finished.
maybe have a slice of my
famous
blueberry pie.
I live right across the street
where you see that little
rocking chair
on my porch.
I like to sit out there at
night and watch the stars.
I moved
into
a new neighborhood
and a woman showed up at the door
with a giant
pan of
tuna casserole.
you shouldn't have, I told
her.
welcome to the neighborhood,
she said
and smiled, straining
her neck into my house
to look around.
are you all alone, here,
she said in that southern
sort of gentile way.
a man all alone in this big
ole house? my oh my.
what a shame.
well, yeah, sort of, I told her,
trying to close the door.
just wanted to say howdy
new neighbor.
enjoy the casserole.
just stop by with the dish
when you're finished.
maybe have a slice of my
famous
blueberry pie.
I live right across the street
where you see that little
rocking chair
on my porch.
I like to sit out there at
night and watch the stars.
time helps
time doesn't heal
despite the myth that it does.
but it doesn't hurt either
if you do the hard
work. the self examination,
the self love,
if you stand back and be honest
with yourself.
you have a responsibility
for your own welfare,
to keep toxic, disturbed people
from invading your
life.
disturbing your peace
and happiness.
you can't let your guard
down. these snakes are everywhere.
narcissism is pandemic
in the world.
their charm always precedes,
their bite
and once poisoned by
one,
it's hell to get them out
of your system.
but time helps.
despite the myth that it does.
but it doesn't hurt either
if you do the hard
work. the self examination,
the self love,
if you stand back and be honest
with yourself.
you have a responsibility
for your own welfare,
to keep toxic, disturbed people
from invading your
life.
disturbing your peace
and happiness.
you can't let your guard
down. these snakes are everywhere.
narcissism is pandemic
in the world.
their charm always precedes,
their bite
and once poisoned by
one,
it's hell to get them out
of your system.
but time helps.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Which Card to Buy
I can't decide what kind of birthday
card to
send.
my ex used to have a dresser drawer
full of greeting cards.
covering all the holidays and special
occasions, anniversaries, etc.
saving them for her harem of
men that she was secretly seeing.
it was quite a stash.
but now i'm out there on my own
going down the endless rows
of cards. what to pick for someone
you care about, do you go
mushy, friendly, funny, or
one that opens up and plays music
for five minutes.
then there's the one with a bracelet
attached.
the one that smells like flowers
or perfume.
I like the card that opens up
and it's
a work of art,
a small town, or village appears
with people singing
happy birthday.
there's one with lights, one with
beads
and little stones resembling
jewels.
one shaped like a glazed donut.
I really
like that one.
I might have to go with the blank
this year,
or fold over a piece of typing
paper and
send that with
a few meaningful, heartfelt words.
card to
send.
my ex used to have a dresser drawer
full of greeting cards.
covering all the holidays and special
occasions, anniversaries, etc.
saving them for her harem of
men that she was secretly seeing.
it was quite a stash.
but now i'm out there on my own
going down the endless rows
of cards. what to pick for someone
you care about, do you go
mushy, friendly, funny, or
one that opens up and plays music
for five minutes.
then there's the one with a bracelet
attached.
the one that smells like flowers
or perfume.
I like the card that opens up
and it's
a work of art,
a small town, or village appears
with people singing
happy birthday.
there's one with lights, one with
beads
and little stones resembling
jewels.
one shaped like a glazed donut.
I really
like that one.
I might have to go with the blank
this year,
or fold over a piece of typing
paper and
send that with
a few meaningful, heartfelt words.
the fly swatter
there's one fly in the house,
I think it's a fly.
it has wings
and is moving rather fast,
but awkwardly.
I did leave a glass of wine out
last night,
half full.
I wonder, if she got
into it.
I grab my swatter and begin
to hunt
her down.
but she's too quick, too
elusive. I see her metallic
greenish eyes
glimmer in the light.
she's buzzing like crazy,
she has a lot
to say,
apparently, although I don't
have a clue as to
what it might be.
some things never change.
I think it's a fly.
it has wings
and is moving rather fast,
but awkwardly.
I did leave a glass of wine out
last night,
half full.
I wonder, if she got
into it.
I grab my swatter and begin
to hunt
her down.
but she's too quick, too
elusive. I see her metallic
greenish eyes
glimmer in the light.
she's buzzing like crazy,
she has a lot
to say,
apparently, although I don't
have a clue as to
what it might be.
some things never change.
can i put you on hold for a minute
I talk to one of my daily scammers
today, not the pharmacy one,
or the IRS one,
or the social security one,
or the credit card one,
but this one is a call from
my old friend
Natasha
in the Ukraine.
she wants to come visit, but
first she needs a few hundred bucks
to order her online applications
for an RN job
in Northern Virginia.
go to Walmart, she tells me
and get me a steam credit card.
I just got my scores and I am okay
to being work now.
I have no idea what in the hell
she's talking about.
she sends me a few inappropriate
photos of herself to sweeten the deal.
a lot of clothes, some clothes, then
just her in a pair of cowboy boots
sipping on an RC cola.
she wants to move in and be the next
love of my life. she asks me if I have
a BMW.
oh brother, I say on the phone.
to which she says.
is your brother there too, i'd like
to meet him.
I have a friend who looks just like me,
how you say, in American,
we are twins, duplicates, carbon copies.
I send you her picture too.
sure, I tell her, bring her along,
bring all your buddies, if they look like
you.
i'll put up some bunk beds in the basement.
hey, look, can I put you on hold,
Wen from china is on the phone,
i'm supposed to pick her up at the airport
tomorrow, after the check clears
that I sent her.
today, not the pharmacy one,
or the IRS one,
or the social security one,
or the credit card one,
but this one is a call from
my old friend
Natasha
in the Ukraine.
she wants to come visit, but
first she needs a few hundred bucks
to order her online applications
for an RN job
in Northern Virginia.
go to Walmart, she tells me
and get me a steam credit card.
I just got my scores and I am okay
to being work now.
I have no idea what in the hell
she's talking about.
she sends me a few inappropriate
photos of herself to sweeten the deal.
a lot of clothes, some clothes, then
just her in a pair of cowboy boots
sipping on an RC cola.
she wants to move in and be the next
love of my life. she asks me if I have
a BMW.
oh brother, I say on the phone.
to which she says.
is your brother there too, i'd like
to meet him.
I have a friend who looks just like me,
how you say, in American,
we are twins, duplicates, carbon copies.
I send you her picture too.
sure, I tell her, bring her along,
bring all your buddies, if they look like
you.
i'll put up some bunk beds in the basement.
hey, look, can I put you on hold,
Wen from china is on the phone,
i'm supposed to pick her up at the airport
tomorrow, after the check clears
that I sent her.
No Refund, No Returns
if it's too good to be
true, it's not true,
she was silly putty,
gorilla glue.
wax and glow,
miracle wash,
the copper pan.
she was artificial
grass,
she was a placebo.
the exercise ball.
the mattress queen,
the ronco gizmo.
the foreman grill,
the cancer cure,
the paleo diet,
the wrinkle cream,
she was every
fake and over rated
thing
you can think of
under the sun.
a fraud, through
and through, but I
stepped right up
and bought her,
then paid my dues.
no refund, no returns,
no apologies.
live
and learn.
true, it's not true,
she was silly putty,
gorilla glue.
wax and glow,
miracle wash,
the copper pan.
she was artificial
grass,
she was a placebo.
the exercise ball.
the mattress queen,
the ronco gizmo.
the foreman grill,
the cancer cure,
the paleo diet,
the wrinkle cream,
she was every
fake and over rated
thing
you can think of
under the sun.
a fraud, through
and through, but I
stepped right up
and bought her,
then paid my dues.
no refund, no returns,
no apologies.
live
and learn.
the life meant to be
i find a poor old grape
on the floor,
having rolled
from bowl or hand
onto the rug
then finding a resting
place beside the lamp.
it's hard now.
no longer sweet.
it could have been there
for days,
for weeks.
i feel bad for it,
away from its friends,
never bitten into.
never lived or died
in the life
that was meant
to be.
on the floor,
having rolled
from bowl or hand
onto the rug
then finding a resting
place beside the lamp.
it's hard now.
no longer sweet.
it could have been there
for days,
for weeks.
i feel bad for it,
away from its friends,
never bitten into.
never lived or died
in the life
that was meant
to be.
black and white thinking
black and white thinking.
it's all good, it's all bad.
there is love
one minute,
then hate the next.
the boss is good today,
horrible tomorrow.
life is wonderful, life is hell.
you're amazing,
you're a terrible human being.
things will never change,
things
are great just the way
they are.
i'm beautiful, i'm ugly.
imagine living with someone
who thinks this way.
it's a roller coaster,
a ride with no end
every single day.
it's all good, it's all bad.
there is love
one minute,
then hate the next.
the boss is good today,
horrible tomorrow.
life is wonderful, life is hell.
you're amazing,
you're a terrible human being.
things will never change,
things
are great just the way
they are.
i'm beautiful, i'm ugly.
imagine living with someone
who thinks this way.
it's a roller coaster,
a ride with no end
every single day.
Tuesday, February 4, 2020
just visiting
it's a mini mansion,
amongst a small neighborhood
of mini mansions.
black and grey cars line
the drive ways.
audi, Mercedes, bmw.
a jag or two.
they all have pools. tennis courts.
dogs, trained
and well behaved.
the kids go to the finest schools.
they glow
with health.
one plays a tuba, the other a violin.
it's a fine place to work, to paint
a wall or two,
a room,
or paper a border around the ceiling.
the women are ageless, the men at fifty
are thirty two.
they ski, they golf, they go to Europe
on a whim.
it's strange being her, having
been from where I
began.
but it's nice to visit time and time
again and comforting to know,
that i'll never be like them.
amongst a small neighborhood
of mini mansions.
black and grey cars line
the drive ways.
audi, Mercedes, bmw.
a jag or two.
they all have pools. tennis courts.
dogs, trained
and well behaved.
the kids go to the finest schools.
they glow
with health.
one plays a tuba, the other a violin.
it's a fine place to work, to paint
a wall or two,
a room,
or paper a border around the ceiling.
the women are ageless, the men at fifty
are thirty two.
they ski, they golf, they go to Europe
on a whim.
it's strange being her, having
been from where I
began.
but it's nice to visit time and time
again and comforting to know,
that i'll never be like them.
I See Her Walking in Thais Park
I dreamed I saw her walking
down the path,
her hands full with a satchel
of birthday
and valentine cards
for her married boyfriend.
pictures in baggies.
little pink hearts cut out
and colored
with crayons. I saw her in
the fog,
walking alone, looking over
her shoulder
as she turned into the woods,
a pocket full of pins.
a bouquet of plastic flowers,
her buttons saying hippy or
Harley chick, ready to be
fastened to the tree
where he carved his mistress's
heart. I dreamed that I saw
her bone thin and tired.
drained of hope.
haggard and sick.
the ache of starvation
upon her, full of guilt
and regret,
weary with her life
and those around her.
thinking endlessly about
ending it all.
still
unable to let go, still in
a trance, even at 61,
lost, a ghost in her
perpetual night.
it startles me when I
awaken. I shake my head
and put my feet onto the floor.
then look to where she used
to be, asleep curled
in bed, trembling,
soured and rotting
to the core. thankful,
thankful that she's gone.
down the path,
her hands full with a satchel
of birthday
and valentine cards
for her married boyfriend.
pictures in baggies.
little pink hearts cut out
and colored
with crayons. I saw her in
the fog,
walking alone, looking over
her shoulder
as she turned into the woods,
a pocket full of pins.
a bouquet of plastic flowers,
her buttons saying hippy or
Harley chick, ready to be
fastened to the tree
where he carved his mistress's
heart. I dreamed that I saw
her bone thin and tired.
drained of hope.
haggard and sick.
the ache of starvation
upon her, full of guilt
and regret,
weary with her life
and those around her.
thinking endlessly about
ending it all.
still
unable to let go, still in
a trance, even at 61,
lost, a ghost in her
perpetual night.
it startles me when I
awaken. I shake my head
and put my feet onto the floor.
then look to where she used
to be, asleep curled
in bed, trembling,
soured and rotting
to the core. thankful,
thankful that she's gone.
Sheila
her name was Sheila,
a long tall string bean
of a girl.
sea green eyes, brown hair down
to her shoulders.
we went to the same community
college.
the best six years of my life.
we used to make love on a hill
overlooking
rosecroft raceway.
the field lit up.
the stands full of gamblers,
drenched in whiskey,
a cloud of cigarette smoke
hovering grey
over mud,
yelling at
the harnessed horses
as they bent towards the finish
line.
that was part of it.
the excitement of the crowd,
the rumble of hooves,
the call being made.
it wasn't love exactly, but we
liked each other as young people do.
and that was enough
to get us around the bend
towards home.
a long tall string bean
of a girl.
sea green eyes, brown hair down
to her shoulders.
we went to the same community
college.
the best six years of my life.
we used to make love on a hill
overlooking
rosecroft raceway.
the field lit up.
the stands full of gamblers,
drenched in whiskey,
a cloud of cigarette smoke
hovering grey
over mud,
yelling at
the harnessed horses
as they bent towards the finish
line.
that was part of it.
the excitement of the crowd,
the rumble of hooves,
the call being made.
it wasn't love exactly, but we
liked each other as young people do.
and that was enough
to get us around the bend
towards home.
all about me
if I got a cut as a small
child,
my mother cried as if it was her
hand bleeding and
needing stitches.
if I fell,
or tripped, and bruised
a knee or chin, or was done
wrong
by someone, she took it on
as if
it was her injury.
when I was broken hearted
after losing
at love,
it was her
heart
that was broken
and disappointed.
she had a way of twisting
life
around
to make it all about her,
and I see the pattern
that I found,
being with women just
like her.
all victims to some degree,
self absorbed,
lacking truly
in sincere and heartfelt
empathy.
child,
my mother cried as if it was her
hand bleeding and
needing stitches.
if I fell,
or tripped, and bruised
a knee or chin, or was done
wrong
by someone, she took it on
as if
it was her injury.
when I was broken hearted
after losing
at love,
it was her
heart
that was broken
and disappointed.
she had a way of twisting
life
around
to make it all about her,
and I see the pattern
that I found,
being with women just
like her.
all victims to some degree,
self absorbed,
lacking truly
in sincere and heartfelt
empathy.
the opening
I have to go to my house
in st. michaels,
work on the boat,
defrost the fridge,
and then feed my kids,
then walk
my dog, then go to work,
then
wash my car,
have it inspected, then
take care
of my mom
and dad, then do my taxes,
then
go get a pedicure,
then have my hair done,
then go
to the store, then get
gas,
then, go to the post
office. then I have
a few doctor visits,
the dentist too,
and my therapist, I need
a session with her,
but I think I have an
opening on the third
Tuesday in April if you
want to get together.
let me know if that
works, you know how things
change.
in st. michaels,
work on the boat,
defrost the fridge,
and then feed my kids,
then walk
my dog, then go to work,
then
wash my car,
have it inspected, then
take care
of my mom
and dad, then do my taxes,
then
go get a pedicure,
then have my hair done,
then go
to the store, then get
gas,
then, go to the post
office. then I have
a few doctor visits,
the dentist too,
and my therapist, I need
a session with her,
but I think I have an
opening on the third
Tuesday in April if you
want to get together.
let me know if that
works, you know how things
change.
nearing an end
it's the end of small
talk.
the end of the mundane.
the end
of
planning
a regular day.
it's the end of back and forth
texting.
or a call
returned.
it's the slow death of love,
the withering
branch,
the brown leaf
on a unwatered plant
it's the death
of a friendship that is hard.
talk.
the end of the mundane.
the end
of
planning
a regular day.
it's the end of back and forth
texting.
or a call
returned.
it's the slow death of love,
the withering
branch,
the brown leaf
on a unwatered plant
it's the death
of a friendship that is hard.
romantic trips
I've been
places, like Santorini
with
people
I don't want to be with.
in Venice,
or on Broadway,
on a bench in central park,
on a ship,
on a hillside, on the deck
of a large
ship
staring at the Turkish sky.
where there
should have been love,
romance,
a bonding of two hearts,
there was nothing,
nothing by the longing
still
unsettled,
deep inside.
places, like Santorini
with
people
I don't want to be with.
in Venice,
or on Broadway,
on a bench in central park,
on a ship,
on a hillside, on the deck
of a large
ship
staring at the Turkish sky.
where there
should have been love,
romance,
a bonding of two hearts,
there was nothing,
nothing by the longing
still
unsettled,
deep inside.
Monday, February 3, 2020
The White Snail
the snail
is a wonder.
white striped in it's cap
of shell.
dragging itself
slowly from point A
to point B.
it's hard
to tell if there is a plan.
a mission
statement of some kind.
not unlike you, not unlike
me.
is a wonder.
white striped in it's cap
of shell.
dragging itself
slowly from point A
to point B.
it's hard
to tell if there is a plan.
a mission
statement of some kind.
not unlike you, not unlike
me.
ten horses
the older one gets
the faster the days roll by.
ten horses galloping
forward
pulling the wagon of you along.
the wind
putting grey
into your hair.
creases around your mouth,
webs
at your eyes.
wasn't it just yesterday you
were a child
at the bus stop
with a plaid
lunchbox,
a book bag under your arm,
wondering
what to do at the end of
this long
day.
the faster the days roll by.
ten horses galloping
forward
pulling the wagon of you along.
the wind
putting grey
into your hair.
creases around your mouth,
webs
at your eyes.
wasn't it just yesterday you
were a child
at the bus stop
with a plaid
lunchbox,
a book bag under your arm,
wondering
what to do at the end of
this long
day.
the high rise apartment
there was a woman
who
walked around her apartment
nude.
going from room to room.
the lights all on.
we could see her from across
the alley,
our apartment twelves floors
up,
like hers.
she didn't care. she was neither
young or old.
red hair.
she go to the kitchen
then
to the bedroom,
then down the hall.
it was interesting at first,
but as the weeks went on,
we pulled the blinds,
closed the shades.
we'd seen enough.
then one day I saw her on the street,
dressed in a winter coat,
a black beret, a scarf,
and a long wool dress
that touched the ground.
I tipped my hat.
she scowled and sneered as if
to say
how dare you.
we don't even know one another.
who
walked around her apartment
nude.
going from room to room.
the lights all on.
we could see her from across
the alley,
our apartment twelves floors
up,
like hers.
she didn't care. she was neither
young or old.
red hair.
she go to the kitchen
then
to the bedroom,
then down the hall.
it was interesting at first,
but as the weeks went on,
we pulled the blinds,
closed the shades.
we'd seen enough.
then one day I saw her on the street,
dressed in a winter coat,
a black beret, a scarf,
and a long wool dress
that touched the ground.
I tipped my hat.
she scowled and sneered as if
to say
how dare you.
we don't even know one another.
taking the dare
to have it in full
one must be open, vulnerable.
willing almost to lose
it and
end one's life
in doing so.
there are elements that must
be
had,
as in all things,
the earth made up of water
and minerals,
the life
that lives and expands
with each year that passes.
but love
is equally complex.
souls need to be bared, trust
must come
like a sun,
or moon
exerting light and hope
upon those that dare.
it isn't easy,
it's almost impossible to
hold,
like mercury in your palm,
it's slippery.
rare.
one must be open, vulnerable.
willing almost to lose
it and
end one's life
in doing so.
there are elements that must
be
had,
as in all things,
the earth made up of water
and minerals,
the life
that lives and expands
with each year that passes.
but love
is equally complex.
souls need to be bared, trust
must come
like a sun,
or moon
exerting light and hope
upon those that dare.
it isn't easy,
it's almost impossible to
hold,
like mercury in your palm,
it's slippery.
rare.
not a moment too soon
the more you know, the more
you realize you
don't know.
this doesn't just hold true
with book learning,
or what
you might view
in a microscope
or telescope pointed at
the universe beyond.
it's true for people too,
it comes slowly.
a word,
a glance, an opened phone,
a subtle clue.
a lie.
and suddenly everything about
them
has been altered,
what was once true
is no longer true,
the game has changed,
forever, and not a moment
too soon.
you realize you
don't know.
this doesn't just hold true
with book learning,
or what
you might view
in a microscope
or telescope pointed at
the universe beyond.
it's true for people too,
it comes slowly.
a word,
a glance, an opened phone,
a subtle clue.
a lie.
and suddenly everything about
them
has been altered,
what was once true
is no longer true,
the game has changed,
forever, and not a moment
too soon.
a never ending mystery
there are some old flames
that you
have fond memories of, there's no
hard feelings,
no remorse or regret, just the sweet
reminiscence of
what you had together.
you remember the
fun, the love making, the laughter,
the walks,
the conversation.
the trips you took to the beach
or fair,
to new York.
and then there are a few relationships
that you think
back and there's not a single
good memory to recall,
there's absolutely nothing there,
no fun, no joy, nothing
but sadness and sorrow,
pain.
why you ever with them, will be mystery
until the end of time.
that you
have fond memories of, there's no
hard feelings,
no remorse or regret, just the sweet
reminiscence of
what you had together.
you remember the
fun, the love making, the laughter,
the walks,
the conversation.
the trips you took to the beach
or fair,
to new York.
and then there are a few relationships
that you think
back and there's not a single
good memory to recall,
there's absolutely nothing there,
no fun, no joy, nothing
but sadness and sorrow,
pain.
why you ever with them, will be mystery
until the end of time.
judgement day
is there really going to be a judgement day?
what will that be like?
will there be a house and senate debate.
a supreme court judge.
will they put videos of us saying and
doing bad things
over and over again.
then voting to see if we go to heaven
or hell?
will someone stand up for us, and
litigate our
mistakes,
a lawyer, pointing out in a scholarly
way
that we were victims,
due to our circumstances
and our misguided parents?
will every word, said, or action,
or key stroke made
be revealed?
will there be witness? oh God,
I hope not.
what will that be like?
will there be a house and senate debate.
a supreme court judge.
will they put videos of us saying and
doing bad things
over and over again.
then voting to see if we go to heaven
or hell?
will someone stand up for us, and
litigate our
mistakes,
a lawyer, pointing out in a scholarly
way
that we were victims,
due to our circumstances
and our misguided parents?
will every word, said, or action,
or key stroke made
be revealed?
will there be witness? oh God,
I hope not.
girl scout cookies
the girl scout appears at the door
with her little
knock.
her parents behind her smiling.
boxes of cookies to be delivered
in their arms.
five boxes of thin mints, the little
kid says,
checking her list.
yeah, that's me, I tell her.
and a gallon of whole milk.
oh, we don't do milk, she says.
damn, I say, I mean darn,
that's a shame.
with her little
knock.
her parents behind her smiling.
boxes of cookies to be delivered
in their arms.
five boxes of thin mints, the little
kid says,
checking her list.
yeah, that's me, I tell her.
and a gallon of whole milk.
oh, we don't do milk, she says.
damn, I say, I mean darn,
that's a shame.
inching forward
we inch forward.
it's a long march in
all kinds
of weather.
you stop when you can to
rest,
rub your feet,
have water.
then you move on. you
go as far away
as you can from the place
you used to be.
you move further
towards yourself.
inch by inch, away from
who you
became
when you were with her.
it's a long march in
all kinds
of weather.
you stop when you can to
rest,
rub your feet,
have water.
then you move on. you
go as far away
as you can from the place
you used to be.
you move further
towards yourself.
inch by inch, away from
who you
became
when you were with her.
Sunday, February 2, 2020
the hunger artist
there are those
who
have no lick of art
or music,
or anything creative
within them, at
least that's
what appears
to be true
on the surface.
a lack of imaginative
talent, when
actually they have a whole
world
of creations,
most within their darkened
minds, and you
and others provide the canvas
where they
strike with blood
and black ink.
perpetual lies.
you're lucky to escape
with your life.
who
have no lick of art
or music,
or anything creative
within them, at
least that's
what appears
to be true
on the surface.
a lack of imaginative
talent, when
actually they have a whole
world
of creations,
most within their darkened
minds, and you
and others provide the canvas
where they
strike with blood
and black ink.
perpetual lies.
you're lucky to escape
with your life.
My Father's Sex Life
when my father called
me
to see if I could get him Viagra,
I laughed.
can you get me some on your phone
he said.
as if my phone was a microwave
oven, or a fax machine
for prescription pills.
he's 92 going on 16.
his new girlfriend is 83, a woman
he met in the 1970's.
someone he cheated on my mother
with
for awhile.
but they're back together, and
apparently the notion of
getting busy has crossed his mind
and other parts
of his aging anatomy.
I don't want to start something
I can't finish, he tells me.
I hold the phone away from my ear
and grimace.
he can hardly see, hardly hear,
hardly walk or breathe,
he has high blood pressure
and god knows what else, and yet
he's still a hound dog until
the bitter end.
I tell him no. I tell him
to go to his doctor and see what
he says.
he doesn't sound happy with this
advice and when we hang up,
he calls my sister, to see what
she can do.
me
to see if I could get him Viagra,
I laughed.
can you get me some on your phone
he said.
as if my phone was a microwave
oven, or a fax machine
for prescription pills.
he's 92 going on 16.
his new girlfriend is 83, a woman
he met in the 1970's.
someone he cheated on my mother
with
for awhile.
but they're back together, and
apparently the notion of
getting busy has crossed his mind
and other parts
of his aging anatomy.
I don't want to start something
I can't finish, he tells me.
I hold the phone away from my ear
and grimace.
he can hardly see, hardly hear,
hardly walk or breathe,
he has high blood pressure
and god knows what else, and yet
he's still a hound dog until
the bitter end.
I tell him no. I tell him
to go to his doctor and see what
he says.
he doesn't sound happy with this
advice and when we hang up,
he calls my sister, to see what
she can do.
the sand dunes
I remember how cold the sand
was
as we lay down
under a full moon, the ocean
spread noisily
beyond the dunes.
we were alone, just the two
of us.
we wanted to make love,
but there was the sand to deal
with.
we had no place to go,
no room, no car.
we were young and deeply in
some sort of infatuated,
child like love.
we did the best we could,
with shirts and sweaters,
the cold sand.
I wonder even now, so many
years later, if she
remembers how surreal
and wonderful it all was.
was
as we lay down
under a full moon, the ocean
spread noisily
beyond the dunes.
we were alone, just the two
of us.
we wanted to make love,
but there was the sand to deal
with.
we had no place to go,
no room, no car.
we were young and deeply in
some sort of infatuated,
child like love.
we did the best we could,
with shirts and sweaters,
the cold sand.
I wonder even now, so many
years later, if she
remembers how surreal
and wonderful it all was.
the asterisk
when something has the ring
of truth about it,
you nod and take note. file
it away
as something to be remembered.
a tale told,
or an obscure fact.
but strangely when a lie
is said
and you know it's a lie, that
too gets filed away,
never to be mistaken
for a truth,
you put an asterisk by the
person's name who spoke.
beware,
you write below.
of truth about it,
you nod and take note. file
it away
as something to be remembered.
a tale told,
or an obscure fact.
but strangely when a lie
is said
and you know it's a lie, that
too gets filed away,
never to be mistaken
for a truth,
you put an asterisk by the
person's name who spoke.
beware,
you write below.
the blocked numbers list
I look at my list of blocked phone numbers
on my cell phone.
I scroll down through
about five hundred of them.
most are telemarketers, then there are a few
relatives.
old loves.
new almost friends. trouble makers,
agitators.
etc.
a few wives are on there too.
it's funny how you can go from talking
everyday.
texting.
sending little heart or kiss emojis
to being blocked
and discarded as if they never existed.
i'm sure i'm on a few lists too.
oh well.
the phone's ringing, got to go.
on my cell phone.
I scroll down through
about five hundred of them.
most are telemarketers, then there are a few
relatives.
old loves.
new almost friends. trouble makers,
agitators.
etc.
a few wives are on there too.
it's funny how you can go from talking
everyday.
texting.
sending little heart or kiss emojis
to being blocked
and discarded as if they never existed.
i'm sure i'm on a few lists too.
oh well.
the phone's ringing, got to go.
the new love of my life
she's Rebecca from sunnybrooke farm.
she's a vamp, innocent and sweet,
a burlesque dancer, an angel
in church.
she's standing in a wheat field
in the Ukraine.
the wind blowing at her short flowery
skirt.
blued eyed, blonde. slender as a
reed
with just enough curves.
she's the latest love of my life.
she just needs my bank account number,
full name and address,
then she'll fly
to the states
and be my wife.
she's a vamp, innocent and sweet,
a burlesque dancer, an angel
in church.
she's standing in a wheat field
in the Ukraine.
the wind blowing at her short flowery
skirt.
blued eyed, blonde. slender as a
reed
with just enough curves.
she's the latest love of my life.
she just needs my bank account number,
full name and address,
then she'll fly
to the states
and be my wife.
get out of bed
it's a risk.
what isn't. leaving the house
is a risk.
anything could happen.
a bird could fly
into your head.
getting dressed,
a shoe lace breaking,
a sweater ripped.
meeting someone for lunch
then
saying the wrong thing
at the wrong moment,
or
reaching over
to give her a kiss,
because you've had one
too many bloody marys
could be a disaster.
ordering Indian food instead
of steak and potatoes,
turning right,
and not left.
the whole day can be a cup
of crazy,
but at some point,
you have to get out
of bed.
what isn't. leaving the house
is a risk.
anything could happen.
a bird could fly
into your head.
getting dressed,
a shoe lace breaking,
a sweater ripped.
meeting someone for lunch
then
saying the wrong thing
at the wrong moment,
or
reaching over
to give her a kiss,
because you've had one
too many bloody marys
could be a disaster.
ordering Indian food instead
of steak and potatoes,
turning right,
and not left.
the whole day can be a cup
of crazy,
but at some point,
you have to get out
of bed.
Saturday, February 1, 2020
grain and seed
we push the plow through the open
field.
we seed, we plant
we sow.
we wait for rain, for the heavens
to open up.
it's
all we can do, then wait
for grain.
whether time is on
our side,
who's to know.
no need worry, or fret
or turn
and toss through a sleepless
night.
once all is done that can
be done.
just breathe, just rest.
field.
we seed, we plant
we sow.
we wait for rain, for the heavens
to open up.
it's
all we can do, then wait
for grain.
whether time is on
our side,
who's to know.
no need worry, or fret
or turn
and toss through a sleepless
night.
once all is done that can
be done.
just breathe, just rest.
the married woman
she told me she was married,
averting her eyes,
to the plush blue hotel rug
her shoes sunk in,
but that she wasn't happy.
I love him, she said,
and he loves me, but I don't want
to leave him,
his money, the house.
we have a dog, a cat, a
picket fence.
yesterday we had the place painted,
and bought a new
kitchen sink.
I just want more fun in my life.
more pizzaz, excitement.
there has to be more than luke warm
sex
and watching tv.
I looked at her sitting
deep into a chair at the Westin Hotel,
nervously looking at each person
who came through the revolving doors.
her arms were folded tightly
across her chest.
hat on, coat buttoned tight.
a light scared woman,
not unattractive, but pale
and thin.
a brush of rouge on her cheeks.
a stripe of lipstick, pink.
i'm sorry, I said, I
can't help you with that,
you're very nice and smart,
but I can't go down
that road.
I couldn't do that to him,
or me, or you, or anyone
for that matter.
i'd even feel bad for the cat
and dog.
I've seen how that all works
out in the end.
my ex wife was just like you,
a lying adulterer.
sorry, but no dice, it's a shame
the mess you both are in.
averting her eyes,
to the plush blue hotel rug
her shoes sunk in,
but that she wasn't happy.
I love him, she said,
and he loves me, but I don't want
to leave him,
his money, the house.
we have a dog, a cat, a
picket fence.
yesterday we had the place painted,
and bought a new
kitchen sink.
I just want more fun in my life.
more pizzaz, excitement.
there has to be more than luke warm
sex
and watching tv.
I looked at her sitting
deep into a chair at the Westin Hotel,
nervously looking at each person
who came through the revolving doors.
her arms were folded tightly
across her chest.
hat on, coat buttoned tight.
a light scared woman,
not unattractive, but pale
and thin.
a brush of rouge on her cheeks.
a stripe of lipstick, pink.
i'm sorry, I said, I
can't help you with that,
you're very nice and smart,
but I can't go down
that road.
I couldn't do that to him,
or me, or you, or anyone
for that matter.
i'd even feel bad for the cat
and dog.
I've seen how that all works
out in the end.
my ex wife was just like you,
a lying adulterer.
sorry, but no dice, it's a shame
the mess you both are in.
cortisol spike
my cortisol was going crazy
last year.
my blood pressure was out the roof.
I trembled,
and would cry at a soap commercial.
fear, stress anger, jealousy, etc.
had me
seeing imaginary grizzly bears
at every turn
of the mile.
so I ate. I drank.
sugar, meat, cupcakes.
rocky road ice cream.
I found the bottom of every potato
chip bag I bought.
suddenly I had a roll of belly
fat hanging over
my belt.
I found new lovers and misbehaved.
I was a madman out of control.
I knew the source of this spike
in cortisol,
but I didn't quite know how
to stop it, until she left,
my deranged significant other.
suddenly things
were back to normal
and my weight dropped, my
skin
cleared and once more I had
a happy spring in
my step.
last year.
my blood pressure was out the roof.
I trembled,
and would cry at a soap commercial.
fear, stress anger, jealousy, etc.
had me
seeing imaginary grizzly bears
at every turn
of the mile.
so I ate. I drank.
sugar, meat, cupcakes.
rocky road ice cream.
I found the bottom of every potato
chip bag I bought.
suddenly I had a roll of belly
fat hanging over
my belt.
I found new lovers and misbehaved.
I was a madman out of control.
I knew the source of this spike
in cortisol,
but I didn't quite know how
to stop it, until she left,
my deranged significant other.
suddenly things
were back to normal
and my weight dropped, my
skin
cleared and once more I had
a happy spring in
my step.
the sun will rise
to bear sorrow
and yet not speak of it
is hard.
to carry a load alone.
to bend in
the wind without scarf
or coat.
to live in isolation,
without being touched, or
hearing a kind word.
to feel the sting of betrayal
for so long,
and keep silent.
these are holy times.
these are blessings in disguise.
go through this,
fear not,
the sun will rise.
and yet not speak of it
is hard.
to carry a load alone.
to bend in
the wind without scarf
or coat.
to live in isolation,
without being touched, or
hearing a kind word.
to feel the sting of betrayal
for so long,
and keep silent.
these are holy times.
these are blessings in disguise.
go through this,
fear not,
the sun will rise.
becoming a woman
it's a good day to go shopping.
a good day for
sales,
coupons, fifty per cent off.
I've got a handful.
DSW, BED BATH AND BEYOND,
macy's, lord and taylor's,
but what do I need? how many more
shoes
can I possibly own.
black sweaters, I think six are
enough.
coats, jeans, pants, dress shirts.
I could dress an army
with the clothes that fill four
closets.
I see the empty vase
on the counter and think
I could use a bouquet of flowers.
I've become a woman in my old age,
but without the lipstick
and mascara.
i'm standing at the stove now,
holding a spatula,
wearing an apron,
looking out
the kitchen window.
a good day for
sales,
coupons, fifty per cent off.
I've got a handful.
DSW, BED BATH AND BEYOND,
macy's, lord and taylor's,
but what do I need? how many more
shoes
can I possibly own.
black sweaters, I think six are
enough.
coats, jeans, pants, dress shirts.
I could dress an army
with the clothes that fill four
closets.
I see the empty vase
on the counter and think
I could use a bouquet of flowers.
I've become a woman in my old age,
but without the lipstick
and mascara.
i'm standing at the stove now,
holding a spatula,
wearing an apron,
looking out
the kitchen window.
Food Donation
I go through my kitchen cupboard
to get rid of things I no longer eat
or want.
boxes of rice, bags of rice. brown,
white, spiced, plain.
packets of tuna, of salmon.
a bag of red potatoes.
six cans of black beans.
two cans of vegetable soup, still
unexpired.
a bag of white flour, a bag of white
sugar.
pancake mix.
muffin mix.
gravy packets.
I load them all into a box and take
it down to St. Bernadette's
where
they have a food donation bin.
I fill it up. not because i'm a
wonderful person,
but because I can.
I remember well how the church
would
feed us,
leaving baskets of food
on the porch,
on those cold stark mornings
in Maryland.
to get rid of things I no longer eat
or want.
boxes of rice, bags of rice. brown,
white, spiced, plain.
packets of tuna, of salmon.
a bag of red potatoes.
six cans of black beans.
two cans of vegetable soup, still
unexpired.
a bag of white flour, a bag of white
sugar.
pancake mix.
muffin mix.
gravy packets.
I load them all into a box and take
it down to St. Bernadette's
where
they have a food donation bin.
I fill it up. not because i'm a
wonderful person,
but because I can.
I remember well how the church
would
feed us,
leaving baskets of food
on the porch,
on those cold stark mornings
in Maryland.
The February Blues
i used to like February.
a good month. a holiday tucked in
there someplace.
a birthday. a valentine's day.
a nice cold month
with an occasional romantic snow.
a good month to burrow in
with a loved one,
to snuggle on the couch, make
love and watch a show.
a good month to read and relax,
to sleep in
and get whole,
but after last February, i don't know
anymore, i'd just as soon
skip this one.
just this one, once this passes,
and fades from
memory,
next year's February
will be all mine alone.
a good month. a holiday tucked in
there someplace.
a birthday. a valentine's day.
a nice cold month
with an occasional romantic snow.
a good month to burrow in
with a loved one,
to snuggle on the couch, make
love and watch a show.
a good month to read and relax,
to sleep in
and get whole,
but after last February, i don't know
anymore, i'd just as soon
skip this one.
just this one, once this passes,
and fades from
memory,
next year's February
will be all mine alone.
stay in your lane
stay in your lane,
she says, it's the new
saying bantered about.
it's like a light slap
from a parent or
friend,
or colleague, wife
or husband.
don't go there. this
is none of your bees
wax.
mind your own bitness,
etc.
but why?
why can't we venture out
on occasion,
get into the other lane,
nose around a bit,
peak under
the covers, so to speak.
investigate.
when people tell you what
you can't do.
it's the first thing you get
up and do when
the sun comes up.
no pain no growth,
I say.
she says, it's the new
saying bantered about.
it's like a light slap
from a parent or
friend,
or colleague, wife
or husband.
don't go there. this
is none of your bees
wax.
mind your own bitness,
etc.
but why?
why can't we venture out
on occasion,
get into the other lane,
nose around a bit,
peak under
the covers, so to speak.
investigate.
when people tell you what
you can't do.
it's the first thing you get
up and do when
the sun comes up.
no pain no growth,
I say.
Friday, January 31, 2020
Diamonds In the Rough
I wonder if things get bad,
if the economy dips
and the bubble bursts once more
if I can get back all the jewelry
and engagement rings I've given
to women over the years.
what if i'm living in the woods
in a pup tent heating up a can
of chef boy r dee chili over
a barrel of burning sticks.
damn i'd like to have some of
those diamonds back and locked
away in a wall safe.
most were given in some
confused state of anxiety
and fear, not out of love,
or hope, or admiration, no,
most were given in the heat of
some infatuated moment
because the sex was so good.
so shouldn't I have them back?
seems only fair. it's not
like they're going to wear
them again, most of these women
already have boxes of rings
and jewelry from other men,
other boyfriends and lovers,
husbands that
they've swindled and charmed
the pants off.
it's only fair. I mean it's
like stealing. dag nab it.
I want my rings back. please.
don't you women have any self
respect, self esteem, dignity
or class? well, that's a dumb
question, one I probably
shouldn't ask.
if the economy dips
and the bubble bursts once more
if I can get back all the jewelry
and engagement rings I've given
to women over the years.
what if i'm living in the woods
in a pup tent heating up a can
of chef boy r dee chili over
a barrel of burning sticks.
damn i'd like to have some of
those diamonds back and locked
away in a wall safe.
most were given in some
confused state of anxiety
and fear, not out of love,
or hope, or admiration, no,
most were given in the heat of
some infatuated moment
because the sex was so good.
so shouldn't I have them back?
seems only fair. it's not
like they're going to wear
them again, most of these women
already have boxes of rings
and jewelry from other men,
other boyfriends and lovers,
husbands that
they've swindled and charmed
the pants off.
it's only fair. I mean it's
like stealing. dag nab it.
I want my rings back. please.
don't you women have any self
respect, self esteem, dignity
or class? well, that's a dumb
question, one I probably
shouldn't ask.
Ironing to Do
I remember watching my mother
iron
for hours. standing at the board
with a basket of clothes
at her feet.
she was there, but not there.
caught in the moment
of doing something so simple
that it hardly took thought.
each shirt stretched out,
the sleeves, the creases.
dress after dress, pants, even
sheets were pressed warm
then folded. the breath of steam
from the hot iron,
the spray of starch.
she was safe there.
the world was another place
beyond this tight laundry
room, with a dangling light
and a curious son on the floor
watching.
the world could wait, she
had ironing to do.
iron
for hours. standing at the board
with a basket of clothes
at her feet.
she was there, but not there.
caught in the moment
of doing something so simple
that it hardly took thought.
each shirt stretched out,
the sleeves, the creases.
dress after dress, pants, even
sheets were pressed warm
then folded. the breath of steam
from the hot iron,
the spray of starch.
she was safe there.
the world was another place
beyond this tight laundry
room, with a dangling light
and a curious son on the floor
watching.
the world could wait, she
had ironing to do.
being imperfect
you do not have to be perfect,
not in word,
or work,
appearance
or action.
we are no less because
of our
imperfections.
look around you,
few if any
have it down,
being human is hard,
but it doesn't have
to be.
go slowly, love slowly.
forgive yourself
as you
would others.
trust your instincts and
be who you are
meant to me.
no more, no less.
not in word,
or work,
appearance
or action.
we are no less because
of our
imperfections.
look around you,
few if any
have it down,
being human is hard,
but it doesn't have
to be.
go slowly, love slowly.
forgive yourself
as you
would others.
trust your instincts and
be who you are
meant to me.
no more, no less.
wake up laughing
it's funny how you wake up
one morning,
and you have a wonderful epiphany
about where you are
now, that you no longer
care about someone
you once agonized over.
you almost start laughing at
the insanity
that person brought into your life.
instead of worry and anxiety,
fear and pain,
you feel nothing. the sweet and clear
cold
water of truth and freedom.
all that cliché stuff.
it's refreshing.
why it took so long, is meaningless,
what counts is that
you are no longer attached to
a lunatic, a wolf in sheep's
clothing. the poison
is gone, the dark cloud
has moved on.
you do a dance as you jump
out of bed, throwing your
hands into the air,
spinning gaily around.
one morning,
and you have a wonderful epiphany
about where you are
now, that you no longer
care about someone
you once agonized over.
you almost start laughing at
the insanity
that person brought into your life.
instead of worry and anxiety,
fear and pain,
you feel nothing. the sweet and clear
cold
water of truth and freedom.
all that cliché stuff.
it's refreshing.
why it took so long, is meaningless,
what counts is that
you are no longer attached to
a lunatic, a wolf in sheep's
clothing. the poison
is gone, the dark cloud
has moved on.
you do a dance as you jump
out of bed, throwing your
hands into the air,
spinning gaily around.
The Old Suit
i have a suit in my closet that i wore
when i was twenty two
years old.
it's a pale grey, with cuffs, no less.
it looks like the suit for a small
skinny child. which i was.
i'd have to be dead for a month
in order to fit into it now.
but i think about the time gone by
since i wore
that suit.
the relationships that have come and
gone. real love, fake love.
imaginary love.
the jobs, the houses and apartments
lived in.
the cars i drove.
the places i went.
i think about all the friends
that I've had,
some still here, others, long gone.
i look in the pocket and find the ticket
stubs
to The Way We Were from a theater
on glebe road in Arlington.
it's hard to throw away a suit like
that,
something that reminds me of the beginning.
i hold it up
to the light,
then hang it back to where it was.
another year
and we're both still here.
when i was twenty two
years old.
it's a pale grey, with cuffs, no less.
it looks like the suit for a small
skinny child. which i was.
i'd have to be dead for a month
in order to fit into it now.
but i think about the time gone by
since i wore
that suit.
the relationships that have come and
gone. real love, fake love.
imaginary love.
the jobs, the houses and apartments
lived in.
the cars i drove.
the places i went.
i think about all the friends
that I've had,
some still here, others, long gone.
i look in the pocket and find the ticket
stubs
to The Way We Were from a theater
on glebe road in Arlington.
it's hard to throw away a suit like
that,
something that reminds me of the beginning.
i hold it up
to the light,
then hang it back to where it was.
another year
and we're both still here.
the long distance call
I remember the long distance
phone call,
standing in a phone booth with a
pocket full of change.
the operator listening in,
telling you when it's time to
feed
the slot,
to gain more minutes to talk.
it was usually raining,
or snowing, or the wind was
blowing so hard through the creases
of the glass
booth
that you could hardly hear
the person on the other end.
they'd get half of what you
were saying,
and you'd get the same
from them.
you'd stamp your feet on
the slab floor trying to stay
warm,
dropping coins everywhere,
bending over to find them in
the flickering light.
it was strangely romantic though.
the gallant effort made
to talk to someone you loved
and to tell
her all the things
you needed to say, and then
to hear
her say the same
on that thin wire that somehow
connected two souls
together
in the pouring rain.
phone call,
standing in a phone booth with a
pocket full of change.
the operator listening in,
telling you when it's time to
feed
the slot,
to gain more minutes to talk.
it was usually raining,
or snowing, or the wind was
blowing so hard through the creases
of the glass
booth
that you could hardly hear
the person on the other end.
they'd get half of what you
were saying,
and you'd get the same
from them.
you'd stamp your feet on
the slab floor trying to stay
warm,
dropping coins everywhere,
bending over to find them in
the flickering light.
it was strangely romantic though.
the gallant effort made
to talk to someone you loved
and to tell
her all the things
you needed to say, and then
to hear
her say the same
on that thin wire that somehow
connected two souls
together
in the pouring rain.
Thursday, January 30, 2020
call your lawyer
i find a snake
in the shed.
a copper head.
curled, cold in the dark
corner.
stitched in it's familiar
pattern.
she eyes me
with a sinister grin
on her thin lips
then shows me her sharp
pointed tongue. she
reaches back in a stiff
coil, ready to strike,
as i stumble away,
unbitten, unharmed.
i shut the door.
trembling with fear.
I've dealt with snakes
like this before,
so i know what to do.
i call my lawyer.
in the shed.
a copper head.
curled, cold in the dark
corner.
stitched in it's familiar
pattern.
she eyes me
with a sinister grin
on her thin lips
then shows me her sharp
pointed tongue. she
reaches back in a stiff
coil, ready to strike,
as i stumble away,
unbitten, unharmed.
i shut the door.
trembling with fear.
I've dealt with snakes
like this before,
so i know what to do.
i call my lawyer.
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