there are so many
apples
to choose from,
grapes, pears,
peaches.
how neatly they lie
in their beds
with the same,
the shine of the stores
light
upon them.
the glossy skins,
or felt
sides. you decide
in time
which,
but it's only in
the bite
that you return again
for more.
Monday, April 11, 2016
in the bite
there are so many
apples
to choose from,
grapes, pears,
peaches.
how neatly they lie
in their beds
with the same,
the shine of the stores
light
upon them.
the glossy skins,
or felt
sides. you decide
in time
which,
but it's only in
the bite
that you return again
for more.
apples
to choose from,
grapes, pears,
peaches.
how neatly they lie
in their beds
with the same,
the shine of the stores
light
upon them.
the glossy skins,
or felt
sides. you decide
in time
which,
but it's only in
the bite
that you return again
for more.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
sugar maple
in the light,
in the fall, the one tree.
a blood tree
full
of red leaves
shines bright in the narrow
lane of sun.
each day
you pass it, stopping
at the light,
waiting your turn
to go home.
each year it blooms,
it dies,
it returns.
so do you. so do you.
in the fall, the one tree.
a blood tree
full
of red leaves
shines bright in the narrow
lane of sun.
each day
you pass it, stopping
at the light,
waiting your turn
to go home.
each year it blooms,
it dies,
it returns.
so do you. so do you.
animal instinct
you need to put
your dog on a leash
the woman tells you early
in the morning
as you walk your dog
behind the houses,
near the woods.
do you have a plastic
bag?
has he had his shots?
there are rules, she says,
what's your name.
the dog growls,
you growl.
you bare your teeth.
the world is civilized,
but the primitive
animal in you
still comes out.
your dog on a leash
the woman tells you early
in the morning
as you walk your dog
behind the houses,
near the woods.
do you have a plastic
bag?
has he had his shots?
there are rules, she says,
what's your name.
the dog growls,
you growl.
you bare your teeth.
the world is civilized,
but the primitive
animal in you
still comes out.
open house
young
couples holding printed
sheets
of paper,
the house, the price
the number of rooms,
park sideways
in the lot.
they look in every
direction like new borns,
at the trees, others walking
by. birds in flight.
they smell the air.
walk through
the open door
to the open house, past
the swing
of the yellow sign.
the staged furniture
stiff
and bright against the freshly
painted walls,
the buffed floors,
holding its new shine.
someone has put a candle
on the counter
filling the rooms with
the sweet scent of cinnamon.
up then down the stairs,
a moment to pause and stare
out the back window
at the woods.
whispers.
she opens the oven door.
he touches
the stain on the ceiling,
rises and falls
on his heels to listen
more intently to the squeak
in the floor.
couples holding printed
sheets
of paper,
the house, the price
the number of rooms,
park sideways
in the lot.
they look in every
direction like new borns,
at the trees, others walking
by. birds in flight.
they smell the air.
walk through
the open door
to the open house, past
the swing
of the yellow sign.
the staged furniture
stiff
and bright against the freshly
painted walls,
the buffed floors,
holding its new shine.
someone has put a candle
on the counter
filling the rooms with
the sweet scent of cinnamon.
up then down the stairs,
a moment to pause and stare
out the back window
at the woods.
whispers.
she opens the oven door.
he touches
the stain on the ceiling,
rises and falls
on his heels to listen
more intently to the squeak
in the floor.
piano legs
her mother
told her she had piano legs.
at ten that was
hard to overcome no matter
how many men tried.
the meanness was
a yellow breath
coming out of her. she wouldn't
die.
hanging on
to life with sharp nails
at ninety five.
why mothers hate
their daughters is a mystery.
and yet,
beneath it all
there was always hope
that she'd
see things
differently, in time.
told her she had piano legs.
at ten that was
hard to overcome no matter
how many men tried.
the meanness was
a yellow breath
coming out of her. she wouldn't
die.
hanging on
to life with sharp nails
at ninety five.
why mothers hate
their daughters is a mystery.
and yet,
beneath it all
there was always hope
that she'd
see things
differently, in time.
piano legs
her mother
told her she had piano legs.
at ten that was
hard to overcome no matter
how many men tried.
the meanness was
a yellow breath
coming out of her. she wouldn't
die.
hanging on
to life with sharp nails
at ninety five.
why mothers hate
their daughters is a mystery.
and yet,
beneath it all
there was always hope
that she'd
see things
differently, in time.
told her she had piano legs.
at ten that was
hard to overcome no matter
how many men tried.
the meanness was
a yellow breath
coming out of her. she wouldn't
die.
hanging on
to life with sharp nails
at ninety five.
why mothers hate
their daughters is a mystery.
and yet,
beneath it all
there was always hope
that she'd
see things
differently, in time.
the sweater
the seams
have split, the buttons
dangle
from the old sweater,
oatmeal in color,
a braided thing
with coffee
stains,
moth
bitten,
stretched out of shape
from being hung
on a cold black hanger
in the closet.
still,
you try it on,
button it up.
in the pocket is his
lighter. silver,
a blue flame when struck.
a pack of lucky strikes.
a ticket torn
in half, another
bet lost.
have split, the buttons
dangle
from the old sweater,
oatmeal in color,
a braided thing
with coffee
stains,
moth
bitten,
stretched out of shape
from being hung
on a cold black hanger
in the closet.
still,
you try it on,
button it up.
in the pocket is his
lighter. silver,
a blue flame when struck.
a pack of lucky strikes.
a ticket torn
in half, another
bet lost.
the sweater
the seams
have split, the buttons
dangle
from the old sweater,
oatmeal in color,
a braided thing
with coffee
stains,
moth
bitten,
stretched out of shape
from being hung
on a cold black hanger
in the closet.
still,
you try it on,
button it up.
in the pocket is his
lighter. silver,
a blue flame when struck.
a pack of lucky strikes.
a ticket torn
in half, another
bet lost.
have split, the buttons
dangle
from the old sweater,
oatmeal in color,
a braided thing
with coffee
stains,
moth
bitten,
stretched out of shape
from being hung
on a cold black hanger
in the closet.
still,
you try it on,
button it up.
in the pocket is his
lighter. silver,
a blue flame when struck.
a pack of lucky strikes.
a ticket torn
in half, another
bet lost.
Saturday, April 9, 2016
his happiness
you want to tell
your father, that it's over
for white
shoes
and a matching white
belt.
sky blue pants.
you want to carefully nudge him,
saying
that he doesn't need to dye
his hair anymore
at eighty-five.
forget the vitamin C
wrinkle cream too.
you want to tell him
about
cell phones and the new
tvs
that aren't in a set
of dresser drawers.
there's
music other than Sinatra too,
benny goodman,
but you don't.
his happiness is his.
not yours.
your father, that it's over
for white
shoes
and a matching white
belt.
sky blue pants.
you want to carefully nudge him,
saying
that he doesn't need to dye
his hair anymore
at eighty-five.
forget the vitamin C
wrinkle cream too.
you want to tell him
about
cell phones and the new
tvs
that aren't in a set
of dresser drawers.
there's
music other than Sinatra too,
benny goodman,
but you don't.
his happiness is his.
not yours.
his happiness
you want to tell
your father, that it's over
for white
shoes
and a matching white
belt.
sky blue pants.
you want to carefully nudge him,
saying
that he doesn't need to dye
his hair anymore
at eighty-five.
forget the vitamin C
wrinkle cream too.
you want to tell him
about
cell phones and the new
tvs
that aren't in a set
of dresser drawers.
there's
music other than Sinatra too,
benny goodman,
but you don't.
his happiness is his.
not yours.
your father, that it's over
for white
shoes
and a matching white
belt.
sky blue pants.
you want to carefully nudge him,
saying
that he doesn't need to dye
his hair anymore
at eighty-five.
forget the vitamin C
wrinkle cream too.
you want to tell him
about
cell phones and the new
tvs
that aren't in a set
of dresser drawers.
there's
music other than Sinatra too,
benny goodman,
but you don't.
his happiness is his.
not yours.
the fiesta
the police
do nothing about the noise.
the music
blasting through the walls,
shaking
your dishes,
your teeth, your porcelain
collection
of Baywatch dolls.
the police want no part
of it.
they ask you to record
or film
the drug use, the seven families
that come
and go. the pit bulls,
and other assorted dogs.
they want you to help
them get to the bottom
of your noisy neighbors.
provide evidence
that you can't sleep, or
live this way.
the neighbors laugh
when they see you, raising their
beer cans mockingly
in jest. they wave
and nod their heads,
pushing back their hats.
they know
there is nothing that can
be done by you or anyone.
do nothing about the noise.
the music
blasting through the walls,
shaking
your dishes,
your teeth, your porcelain
collection
of Baywatch dolls.
the police want no part
of it.
they ask you to record
or film
the drug use, the seven families
that come
and go. the pit bulls,
and other assorted dogs.
they want you to help
them get to the bottom
of your noisy neighbors.
provide evidence
that you can't sleep, or
live this way.
the neighbors laugh
when they see you, raising their
beer cans mockingly
in jest. they wave
and nod their heads,
pushing back their hats.
they know
there is nothing that can
be done by you or anyone.
love finds a way
she once threatened to boil
your dog
in a pot on the stove.
how she would find
a pot that large to hold
his enormously fat
body, might be a problem.
but you got the message,
and made amends
for telling her this
will never work out.
love finds a way.
your dog
in a pot on the stove.
how she would find
a pot that large to hold
his enormously fat
body, might be a problem.
but you got the message,
and made amends
for telling her this
will never work out.
love finds a way.
love finds a way
she once threatened to boil
your dog
in a pot on the stove.
how she would find
a pot that large to hold
his enormously fat
body, might be a problem.
but you got the message,
and made amends
for telling her this
will never work out.
love finds a way.
your dog
in a pot on the stove.
how she would find
a pot that large to hold
his enormously fat
body, might be a problem.
but you got the message,
and made amends
for telling her this
will never work out.
love finds a way.
they'll be missed
these are all good
things to say.
she was a good woman,
a good man,
you were lucky to have such
a friend,
a mother, or
father.
you were blessed by them.
they will be missed.
but you don't really know
these strangers
who barely walked
in the peripherally
edges
of your sight.
the words come out as
stale clichés.
a handshake or hug
might be involved,
but you don't know, not
really what
kind of people they were.
the murderous intent
they may have held,
the mayhem
of their minds.
good or bad, whose to know
these things, only those
that were held or held them
in the cross hairs
can do that.
things to say.
she was a good woman,
a good man,
you were lucky to have such
a friend,
a mother, or
father.
you were blessed by them.
they will be missed.
but you don't really know
these strangers
who barely walked
in the peripherally
edges
of your sight.
the words come out as
stale clichés.
a handshake or hug
might be involved,
but you don't know, not
really what
kind of people they were.
the murderous intent
they may have held,
the mayhem
of their minds.
good or bad, whose to know
these things, only those
that were held or held them
in the cross hairs
can do that.
warm toast
she stays in bed
long past the hour.
long past you
who is in the kitchen.
she lies
under the blankets. warmed.
a slice
of browned toast
not wanting to budge,
but wanting butter.
a slice
of you to melt upon
her.
coffee would be nice
too, she says
from her chambers.
long past the hour.
long past you
who is in the kitchen.
she lies
under the blankets. warmed.
a slice
of browned toast
not wanting to budge,
but wanting butter.
a slice
of you to melt upon
her.
coffee would be nice
too, she says
from her chambers.
warm toast
she stays in bed
long past the hour.
long past you
who is in the kitchen.
she lies
under the blankets. warmed.
a slice
of browned toast
not wanting to budge,
but wanting butter.
a slice
of you to melt upon
her.
coffee would be nice
too, she says
from her chambers.
long past the hour.
long past you
who is in the kitchen.
she lies
under the blankets. warmed.
a slice
of browned toast
not wanting to budge,
but wanting butter.
a slice
of you to melt upon
her.
coffee would be nice
too, she says
from her chambers.
the grey day
it's plain,
without salt, without
seasoning.
not quite without
taste,
but just barely.
it's that kind of day.
non eventful,
a yawn,
a stretch, a peek
out the window
at the shadowed
sky filled with rain.
it's a book you've
read,
a movie seen.
it's the museum of weather
where nothing
has changed.
without salt, without
seasoning.
not quite without
taste,
but just barely.
it's that kind of day.
non eventful,
a yawn,
a stretch, a peek
out the window
at the shadowed
sky filled with rain.
it's a book you've
read,
a movie seen.
it's the museum of weather
where nothing
has changed.
the grey day
it's plain,
without salt, without
seasoning.
not quite without
taste,
but just barely.
it's that kind of day.
non eventful,
a yawn,
a stretch, a peek
out the window
at the shadowed
sky filled with rain.
it's a book you've
read,
a movie seen.
it's the museum of weather
where nothing
has changed.
without salt, without
seasoning.
not quite without
taste,
but just barely.
it's that kind of day.
non eventful,
a yawn,
a stretch, a peek
out the window
at the shadowed
sky filled with rain.
it's a book you've
read,
a movie seen.
it's the museum of weather
where nothing
has changed.
Friday, April 8, 2016
turtle sunrise
a flat black
turtle,
the pentagon of his shell
unsheened
in the dull
light of an april
morning. it hardly
moves in the wash
of cans
and wrappers, cigarette
butts. lime colored
tennis balls.
the neck out, a green
tube of
flesh.
he's quiet
and calm, floating
with the debris
on a slimy log.
a smaller turtle is
beside him.
junior perhaps,
or just a little fellow
also resting,
saying little,
taking a nap. it's all
fine until a man walks by,
on his phone,
and spits in the water,
trying to get them to
move.
they don't. I do.
turtle,
the pentagon of his shell
unsheened
in the dull
light of an april
morning. it hardly
moves in the wash
of cans
and wrappers, cigarette
butts. lime colored
tennis balls.
the neck out, a green
tube of
flesh.
he's quiet
and calm, floating
with the debris
on a slimy log.
a smaller turtle is
beside him.
junior perhaps,
or just a little fellow
also resting,
saying little,
taking a nap. it's all
fine until a man walks by,
on his phone,
and spits in the water,
trying to get them to
move.
they don't. I do.
she's in town
he tells
me about the coffin that his
mother will reside
in for eternity.
the lining, the plush
thick padding.
the ruffled edges.
the polished hardwood,
marine varnished,
with brass plated
hinges
and locks.
no cremation for her,
he says.
she'll be in town,
in a rare exclusive spot
where anyone can visit,
have a word
or two with her.
sit on a stone bench
nearby and enjoy
the scenery.
the river, the woods,
the small pond with ducks.
the planes
from the airport
in the sky.
me about the coffin that his
mother will reside
in for eternity.
the lining, the plush
thick padding.
the ruffled edges.
the polished hardwood,
marine varnished,
with brass plated
hinges
and locks.
no cremation for her,
he says.
she'll be in town,
in a rare exclusive spot
where anyone can visit,
have a word
or two with her.
sit on a stone bench
nearby and enjoy
the scenery.
the river, the woods,
the small pond with ducks.
the planes
from the airport
in the sky.
infection
the man,
sneezing,
with bleary eyes,
red rimmed, nose inflamed,
coughing,
offers his hand to shake.
you stare
at the hand and wince.
but you shake.
when you leave
you immediately wipe
the hand
in the wet green grass outside
his house.
hoping that it's not
too late.
sneezing,
with bleary eyes,
red rimmed, nose inflamed,
coughing,
offers his hand to shake.
you stare
at the hand and wince.
but you shake.
when you leave
you immediately wipe
the hand
in the wet green grass outside
his house.
hoping that it's not
too late.
infection
the man,
sneezing,
with bleary eyes,
red rimmed, nose inflamed,
coughing,
offers his hand to shake.
you stare
at the hand and wince.
but you shake.
when you leave
you immediately wipe
the hand
in the wet green grass outside
his house.
hoping that it's not
too late.
sneezing,
with bleary eyes,
red rimmed, nose inflamed,
coughing,
offers his hand to shake.
you stare
at the hand and wince.
but you shake.
when you leave
you immediately wipe
the hand
in the wet green grass outside
his house.
hoping that it's not
too late.
the motel fire
the old motel
near where the interstate
connects to
roads heading south,
roads heading
north, and east,
an easy jump to
the airport,
is on fire.
it's late,
and the patrons hardly
have time to grab
their clothes
to run outside in the cold
to watch it burn.
most are hourly patrons
wearing
leather, or stiletto heels,
some with whips
still in their hands.
the men
in black socks,
hold their briefcases,
bare skin
pinked by
the frosty air.
there is sadness all
around,
as unfinished business
stays unfinished,
and the cars drive slowly
away, back
to wherever they live,
in whatever town.
near where the interstate
connects to
roads heading south,
roads heading
north, and east,
an easy jump to
the airport,
is on fire.
it's late,
and the patrons hardly
have time to grab
their clothes
to run outside in the cold
to watch it burn.
most are hourly patrons
wearing
leather, or stiletto heels,
some with whips
still in their hands.
the men
in black socks,
hold their briefcases,
bare skin
pinked by
the frosty air.
there is sadness all
around,
as unfinished business
stays unfinished,
and the cars drive slowly
away, back
to wherever they live,
in whatever town.
cargo shorts joe grocery store
I can't shop there anymore.
they are too friendly
in their cargo shorts
and Hawaiian shirts.
some with hats, others with
large island
necklaces dangling from
their necks.
they are hip and cool.
serving wine and small crackers
with bits of cheese
on them. they are
talkative.
they are all over the store
being helpful.
saying clever things.
so it looks like you're
going to make a sandwich
tonight with that meat,
eh?
the teller says, tossing
it into a bag.
I love sandwiches too.
that meat is out of this
world. I had some last week.
I bet you might slice up
those tomatoes too, right?
some cheese, some lettuce?
yeah, I thought so.
and pickles, who doesn't like
a pickle with their
sandwich, raise their
hand?
got a date?, he says, winking.
bottle of five buck wine,
some candles,
and our special non allergy
massage oil. oh, and a five pound
almond chocolate bar.
he rings a bell, and all
the other clerks start clapping.
you the man,
he says, as I cringe and leave
the store.
they are too friendly
in their cargo shorts
and Hawaiian shirts.
some with hats, others with
large island
necklaces dangling from
their necks.
they are hip and cool.
serving wine and small crackers
with bits of cheese
on them. they are
talkative.
they are all over the store
being helpful.
saying clever things.
so it looks like you're
going to make a sandwich
tonight with that meat,
eh?
the teller says, tossing
it into a bag.
I love sandwiches too.
that meat is out of this
world. I had some last week.
I bet you might slice up
those tomatoes too, right?
some cheese, some lettuce?
yeah, I thought so.
and pickles, who doesn't like
a pickle with their
sandwich, raise their
hand?
got a date?, he says, winking.
bottle of five buck wine,
some candles,
and our special non allergy
massage oil. oh, and a five pound
almond chocolate bar.
he rings a bell, and all
the other clerks start clapping.
you the man,
he says, as I cringe and leave
the store.
cargo shorts joe grocery store
I can't shop there anymore.
they are too friendly
in their cargo shorts
and Hawaiian shirts.
some with hats, others with
large island
necklaces dangling from
their necks.
they are hip and cool.
serving wine and small crackers
with bits of cheese
on them. they are
talkative.
they are all over the store
being helpful.
saying clever things.
so it looks like you're
going to make a sandwich
tonight with that meat,
eh?
the teller says, tossing
it into a bag.
I love sandwiches too.
that meat is out of this
world. I had some last week.
I bet you might slice up
those tomatoes too, right?
some cheese, some lettuce?
yeah, I thought so.
and pickles, who doesn't like
a pickle with their
sandwich, raise their
hand?
got a date?, he says, winking.
bottle of five buck wine,
some candles,
and our special non allergy
massage oil. oh, and a five pound
almond chocolate bar.
he rings a bell, and all
the other clerks start clapping.
you the man,
he says, as I cringe and leave
the store.
they are too friendly
in their cargo shorts
and Hawaiian shirts.
some with hats, others with
large island
necklaces dangling from
their necks.
they are hip and cool.
serving wine and small crackers
with bits of cheese
on them. they are
talkative.
they are all over the store
being helpful.
saying clever things.
so it looks like you're
going to make a sandwich
tonight with that meat,
eh?
the teller says, tossing
it into a bag.
I love sandwiches too.
that meat is out of this
world. I had some last week.
I bet you might slice up
those tomatoes too, right?
some cheese, some lettuce?
yeah, I thought so.
and pickles, who doesn't like
a pickle with their
sandwich, raise their
hand?
got a date?, he says, winking.
bottle of five buck wine,
some candles,
and our special non allergy
massage oil. oh, and a five pound
almond chocolate bar.
he rings a bell, and all
the other clerks start clapping.
you the man,
he says, as I cringe and leave
the store.
smells okay
the bells go
off in my head to not
buy the crab
meat stuffed into
a plastic tub with an
orange marked down
price
sticker on the lid.
I pick up the tub
an spin it around
for a thorough
examination. sell
by Friday, which was
yesterday.
I give it a smell
and shake it.
a pound of lump
crab meat from somewhere.
it's hard to read
where,
the print is too small.
how can you go wrong
at four dollars
and ninety seven
cents for a pound
of lump crab meat?
but you go down
the pharmaceutical
aisle to pick up
a few
gastronomical aids
just in case.
off in my head to not
buy the crab
meat stuffed into
a plastic tub with an
orange marked down
price
sticker on the lid.
I pick up the tub
an spin it around
for a thorough
examination. sell
by Friday, which was
yesterday.
I give it a smell
and shake it.
a pound of lump
crab meat from somewhere.
it's hard to read
where,
the print is too small.
how can you go wrong
at four dollars
and ninety seven
cents for a pound
of lump crab meat?
but you go down
the pharmaceutical
aisle to pick up
a few
gastronomical aids
just in case.
not quite the end
there is the funeral,
the wake,
the viewing, the small
gathering
three days before, pot luck.
the larger gathering
the day after.
the speeches,
the eulogy, the photos
displayed.
i'm running out of
things to wear,
and gaining weight.
the invitations keep
coming for the deceased.
a social butterfly
until the end,
which isn't really
the end.
the year later memorial
date has been circled
on the calendar
as well.
the wake,
the viewing, the small
gathering
three days before, pot luck.
the larger gathering
the day after.
the speeches,
the eulogy, the photos
displayed.
i'm running out of
things to wear,
and gaining weight.
the invitations keep
coming for the deceased.
a social butterfly
until the end,
which isn't really
the end.
the year later memorial
date has been circled
on the calendar
as well.
not quite the end
there is the funeral,
the wake,
the viewing, the small
gathering
three days before, pot luck.
the larger gathering
the day after.
the speeches,
the eulogy, the photos
displayed.
i'm running out of
things to wear,
and gaining weight.
the invitations keep
coming for the deceased.
a social butterfly
until the end,
which isn't really
the end.
the year later memorial
date has been circled
on the calendar
as well.
the wake,
the viewing, the small
gathering
three days before, pot luck.
the larger gathering
the day after.
the speeches,
the eulogy, the photos
displayed.
i'm running out of
things to wear,
and gaining weight.
the invitations keep
coming for the deceased.
a social butterfly
until the end,
which isn't really
the end.
the year later memorial
date has been circled
on the calendar
as well.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
thinking about it
the black cat
and you have grown apart.
she's afraid
to approach you, though
she cautiously moves
sideways
as cats do, getting closer.
her green eyes are sharp
in the morning light.
you talk to her,
saying ridiculous things
like,
hey kitty, want some milk,
come here, come here
sweetie. where have you been?
but she's not a dog.
she's not a horse, or a cow.
she's not anything
you're familiar
with.
she's a cat.
you set the saucer of milk
on the stoop.
rattling the dish against
the cement.
she peers at you from behind
the tire
of your car.
she's thinking about it.
pondering her next move.
so are you.
we're all thinking about
something.
and you have grown apart.
she's afraid
to approach you, though
she cautiously moves
sideways
as cats do, getting closer.
her green eyes are sharp
in the morning light.
you talk to her,
saying ridiculous things
like,
hey kitty, want some milk,
come here, come here
sweetie. where have you been?
but she's not a dog.
she's not a horse, or a cow.
she's not anything
you're familiar
with.
she's a cat.
you set the saucer of milk
on the stoop.
rattling the dish against
the cement.
she peers at you from behind
the tire
of your car.
she's thinking about it.
pondering her next move.
so are you.
we're all thinking about
something.
how late we working?
there are gaps
in his life,
dark holes of memory,
where he lived,
what happened, when,
there is
a blank spot on his brain
where nothing
is remembered.
some teeth are missing.
there's a scar
on his arm,
the smudge of a tattoo
blue
green on his neck.
a girl's name.
he says he's turning over
a new leaf
though,
getting things together,
he says this while
taking out a cigarette
and lighting it,
letting the smoke flow
through his nose
like an old dragon.
he sits down on the stoop.
says, how
late we working today.
I have a court date at 3.
he unties the rubber band
that holds back his
hair,
then ties it again,
letting the pony tail
fall to his shoulders.
in his life,
dark holes of memory,
where he lived,
what happened, when,
there is
a blank spot on his brain
where nothing
is remembered.
some teeth are missing.
there's a scar
on his arm,
the smudge of a tattoo
blue
green on his neck.
a girl's name.
he says he's turning over
a new leaf
though,
getting things together,
he says this while
taking out a cigarette
and lighting it,
letting the smoke flow
through his nose
like an old dragon.
he sits down on the stoop.
says, how
late we working today.
I have a court date at 3.
he unties the rubber band
that holds back his
hair,
then ties it again,
letting the pony tail
fall to his shoulders.
the fridge
do you smell mold in
there,
the condo board
leader, with a clipboard
and pen
says, stopping by
to see what you boys are
up to in there.
there was a man
dressed in white who
left a refrigerator
out on the lawn
the other day.
do either of you know
anything about that?
he was about your height,
your age,
your weight.
we gave the police a
description of the man,
they're looking
for him right now.
so if you have any information
about this refrigerator,
it's best that you tell
me now.
she puts her pen to the
paper, and waits.
nope. I say. I don't know
anything about it.
well, if you do. here's my
card and number.
by the way, no putting
trash in the dumpsters,
those are for tenants only.
you are forewarned.
are you sure you don't smell
mold in there?
there,
the condo board
leader, with a clipboard
and pen
says, stopping by
to see what you boys are
up to in there.
there was a man
dressed in white who
left a refrigerator
out on the lawn
the other day.
do either of you know
anything about that?
he was about your height,
your age,
your weight.
we gave the police a
description of the man,
they're looking
for him right now.
so if you have any information
about this refrigerator,
it's best that you tell
me now.
she puts her pen to the
paper, and waits.
nope. I say. I don't know
anything about it.
well, if you do. here's my
card and number.
by the way, no putting
trash in the dumpsters,
those are for tenants only.
you are forewarned.
are you sure you don't smell
mold in there?
the fridge
do you smell mold in
there,
the condo board
leader, with a clipboard
and pen
says, stopping by
to see what you boys are
up to in there.
there was a man
dressed in white who
left a refrigerator
out on the lawn
the other day.
do either of you know
anything about that?
he was about your height,
your age,
your weight.
we gave the police a
description of the man,
they're looking
for him right now.
so if you have any information
about this refrigerator,
it's best that you tell
me now.
she puts her pen to the
paper, and waits.
nope. I say. I don't know
anything about it.
well, if you do. here's my
card and number.
by the way, no putting
trash in the dumpsters,
those are for tenants only.
you are forewarned.
are you sure you don't smell
mold in there?
there,
the condo board
leader, with a clipboard
and pen
says, stopping by
to see what you boys are
up to in there.
there was a man
dressed in white who
left a refrigerator
out on the lawn
the other day.
do either of you know
anything about that?
he was about your height,
your age,
your weight.
we gave the police a
description of the man,
they're looking
for him right now.
so if you have any information
about this refrigerator,
it's best that you tell
me now.
she puts her pen to the
paper, and waits.
nope. I say. I don't know
anything about it.
well, if you do. here's my
card and number.
by the way, no putting
trash in the dumpsters,
those are for tenants only.
you are forewarned.
are you sure you don't smell
mold in there?
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
tomorrow land
I am disappointed
by the future that was promised
to us
as children.
time travel,
the jet packs.
living on the moon,
our minds enlightened,
no longer bothered
by race
or creed, polyester
or wool.
each to his own
way of thinking, dressing
the same in silver suits,
all equals
in the eye of God,
or whatever machine
deemed worthy to pick
our fate. it's basically
the same, we eat, we drink,
we work,
make love and sleep.
little has changed,
which in a strange
way, for the most part,
is good.
by the future that was promised
to us
as children.
time travel,
the jet packs.
living on the moon,
our minds enlightened,
no longer bothered
by race
or creed, polyester
or wool.
each to his own
way of thinking, dressing
the same in silver suits,
all equals
in the eye of God,
or whatever machine
deemed worthy to pick
our fate. it's basically
the same, we eat, we drink,
we work,
make love and sleep.
little has changed,
which in a strange
way, for the most part,
is good.
the bridal shop
in the morning,
on Saturday, near the coffee
shop where I go
for a cup espresso,
a paper and a scone,
I see them.
the women, young girls,
excited
and exhausted by what
will be. waiting
outside the bridal
shop.
there are no men or boys
to be seen
as the women gather
in the parking lot.
gulls landed
on fluttering wings.
all sizes, all shapes
and colors.
they are in a quiet frenzy,
hugging, talking,
beaming. they are three inches
off the ground,
standing at the door,
waiting for someone
to open and turn the key.
on Saturday, near the coffee
shop where I go
for a cup espresso,
a paper and a scone,
I see them.
the women, young girls,
excited
and exhausted by what
will be. waiting
outside the bridal
shop.
there are no men or boys
to be seen
as the women gather
in the parking lot.
gulls landed
on fluttering wings.
all sizes, all shapes
and colors.
they are in a quiet frenzy,
hugging, talking,
beaming. they are three inches
off the ground,
standing at the door,
waiting for someone
to open and turn the key.
the bridal shop
in the morning,
on Saturday, near the coffee
shop where I go
for a cup espresso,
a paper and a scone,
I see them.
the women, young girls,
excited
and exhausted by what
will be. waiting
outside the bridal
shop.
there are no men or boys
to be seen
as the women gather
in the parking lot.
gulls landed
on fluttering wings.
all sizes, all shapes
and colors.
they are in a quiet frenzy,
hugging, talking,
beaming. they are three inches
off the ground,
standing at the door,
waiting for someone
to open and turn the key.
on Saturday, near the coffee
shop where I go
for a cup espresso,
a paper and a scone,
I see them.
the women, young girls,
excited
and exhausted by what
will be. waiting
outside the bridal
shop.
there are no men or boys
to be seen
as the women gather
in the parking lot.
gulls landed
on fluttering wings.
all sizes, all shapes
and colors.
they are in a quiet frenzy,
hugging, talking,
beaming. they are three inches
off the ground,
standing at the door,
waiting for someone
to open and turn the key.
you go, i'll wait here
it's on my list, she says,
flipping through
a travel guide
to Indonesia. I want
to go there.
I want to live there
for a week or
two, not stay in a hotel
and be a tourist.
I hate that. I want to eat
their food,
listen to their music.
be enchanted by
their culture
and ways of life.
I want to be one with
them. those Indonesians.
doesn't that sound like fun,
she says.
me and you, in another
country,
expatriates for a week
or two?
some questions don't
deserve an answer.
flipping through
a travel guide
to Indonesia. I want
to go there.
I want to live there
for a week or
two, not stay in a hotel
and be a tourist.
I hate that. I want to eat
their food,
listen to their music.
be enchanted by
their culture
and ways of life.
I want to be one with
them. those Indonesians.
doesn't that sound like fun,
she says.
me and you, in another
country,
expatriates for a week
or two?
some questions don't
deserve an answer.
three bikes
your new bike is nice.
a hybrid.
black, two wheels,
pedals.
spokes. the rest.
now you have three bikes.
two too many.
you think of selling
the other two
on craig's list,
but you won't. you
don't want strangers
coming to your house
to look or test ride
your old bikes. complaining
about something
to bring the price down.
they might rob
and kill you too,
so why bother.
so the old bikes will sit
with their airless tires,
leaning against
the pool table
that you also never
use.
a hybrid.
black, two wheels,
pedals.
spokes. the rest.
now you have three bikes.
two too many.
you think of selling
the other two
on craig's list,
but you won't. you
don't want strangers
coming to your house
to look or test ride
your old bikes. complaining
about something
to bring the price down.
they might rob
and kill you too,
so why bother.
so the old bikes will sit
with their airless tires,
leaning against
the pool table
that you also never
use.
incorrect, try again
it's nearly impossible
to keep up with your growing
list of passwords.
numbers and names,
obscure places you've
been. people
that you've known,
alive and deceased.
some are so clever
you can't even remember
them ten minutes after
typing them in.
some are the same,
each account, each site,
each bank being opened
by your birth date,
or age attached
to your dog's name. you write
them down.
but in weeks or months
you forget where they are
and have to start all again.
to keep up with your growing
list of passwords.
numbers and names,
obscure places you've
been. people
that you've known,
alive and deceased.
some are so clever
you can't even remember
them ten minutes after
typing them in.
some are the same,
each account, each site,
each bank being opened
by your birth date,
or age attached
to your dog's name. you write
them down.
but in weeks or months
you forget where they are
and have to start all again.
incorrect, try again
it's nearly impossible
to keep up with your growing
list of passwords.
numbers and names,
obscure places you've
been. people
that you've known,
alive and deceased.
some are so clever
you can't even remember
them ten minutes after
typing them in.
some are the same,
each account, each site,
each bank being opened
by your birth date,
or age attached
to your dog's name. you write
them down.
but in weeks or months
you forget where they are
and have to start all again.
to keep up with your growing
list of passwords.
numbers and names,
obscure places you've
been. people
that you've known,
alive and deceased.
some are so clever
you can't even remember
them ten minutes after
typing them in.
some are the same,
each account, each site,
each bank being opened
by your birth date,
or age attached
to your dog's name. you write
them down.
but in weeks or months
you forget where they are
and have to start all again.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
black ink
you could
if you wanted,
make everything wonderful.
people,
the world.
work and all that it
holds.
you could paint
all of it a sky blue,
the color of happy.
delve in
bright primary
colors,
of red or yellow.
this is what you could do,
if you wanted
to.
but no.
it's easier
to tell the story
with
the scrawl of black ink.
the hard truth,
the hard pavement with
just a flower
or two
emerging.
soft blades of grass
somehow finding their
way through
this madness we call
life.
if you wanted,
make everything wonderful.
people,
the world.
work and all that it
holds.
you could paint
all of it a sky blue,
the color of happy.
delve in
bright primary
colors,
of red or yellow.
this is what you could do,
if you wanted
to.
but no.
it's easier
to tell the story
with
the scrawl of black ink.
the hard truth,
the hard pavement with
just a flower
or two
emerging.
soft blades of grass
somehow finding their
way through
this madness we call
life.
black ink
you could
if you wanted,
make everything wonderful.
people,
the world.
work and all that it
holds.
you could paint
all of it a sky blue,
the color of happy.
delve in
bright primary
colors,
of red or yellow.
this is what you could do,
if you wanted
to.
but no.
it's easier
to tell the story
with
the scrawl of black ink.
the hard truth,
the hard pavement with
just a flower
or two
emerging.
soft blades of grass
somehow finding their
way through
this madness we call
life.
if you wanted,
make everything wonderful.
people,
the world.
work and all that it
holds.
you could paint
all of it a sky blue,
the color of happy.
delve in
bright primary
colors,
of red or yellow.
this is what you could do,
if you wanted
to.
but no.
it's easier
to tell the story
with
the scrawl of black ink.
the hard truth,
the hard pavement with
just a flower
or two
emerging.
soft blades of grass
somehow finding their
way through
this madness we call
life.
the fire
I remember
my mother standing in the street,
smoke in the air,
firetrucks
around the corner,
crying
about the baby
that died in the fire.
she had seven
children at the time,
one in her arms,
the rest scattered,
two at her feet.
I remember watching her
bend
with heartache
not knowing who these people
were, and yet
broken as if the child
was one
of her own.
it almost made me understand
why she had
so many.
my mother standing in the street,
smoke in the air,
firetrucks
around the corner,
crying
about the baby
that died in the fire.
she had seven
children at the time,
one in her arms,
the rest scattered,
two at her feet.
I remember watching her
bend
with heartache
not knowing who these people
were, and yet
broken as if the child
was one
of her own.
it almost made me understand
why she had
so many.
the fire
I remember
my mother standing in the street,
smoke in the air,
firetrucks
around the corner,
crying
about the baby
that died in the fire.
she had seven
children at the time,
one in her arms,
the rest scattered,
two at her feet.
I remember watching her
bend
with heartache
not knowing who these people
were, and yet
broken as if the child
was one
of her own.
it almost made me understand
why she had
so many.
my mother standing in the street,
smoke in the air,
firetrucks
around the corner,
crying
about the baby
that died in the fire.
she had seven
children at the time,
one in her arms,
the rest scattered,
two at her feet.
I remember watching her
bend
with heartache
not knowing who these people
were, and yet
broken as if the child
was one
of her own.
it almost made me understand
why she had
so many.
what i want
impatient
for many things,
spring, for one.
warm weather,
a pizza to arrive,
a call.
a hand written
postcard from afar,
a heartfelt
letter.
fruit in season.
a shoe
sale at nordstroms,
okay, not that, I was
thinking of someone else
and got distracted.
but some things.
some
things i'd like right
now.
for many things,
spring, for one.
warm weather,
a pizza to arrive,
a call.
a hand written
postcard from afar,
a heartfelt
letter.
fruit in season.
a shoe
sale at nordstroms,
okay, not that, I was
thinking of someone else
and got distracted.
but some things.
some
things i'd like right
now.
the lightning bolt
she believes
in God, practices
her faith
religiously,
but has an issue with
the sex
part of the rules,
sex outside
of marriage to be exact.
who gets married anymore,
she wonders
out loud,
but I feel guilty
afterwards.
and you?
all the time,
I say,
but it doesn't seem
to stop me,
if things go that way.
i'm thankful though
for a forgiving
and compassionate
God and hope that His
patience
will not end,
that He will not angrily
throw a lightning bolt
my way.
in God, practices
her faith
religiously,
but has an issue with
the sex
part of the rules,
sex outside
of marriage to be exact.
who gets married anymore,
she wonders
out loud,
but I feel guilty
afterwards.
and you?
all the time,
I say,
but it doesn't seem
to stop me,
if things go that way.
i'm thankful though
for a forgiving
and compassionate
God and hope that His
patience
will not end,
that He will not angrily
throw a lightning bolt
my way.
rosa's maid service
i prefer
to get home late,
when it's nearly dark.
the house looks much
cleaner then.
the dust and shoe marks
on the floor,
less obvious.
the unwiped counter,
the dishes
scattered on each table,
in twilight
the mess is somehow less
annoying and less
a pointed finger
at my laziness with
cleaning.
i stare at the coupon
that was slipped
under my door,
Rosa's Maid Service,
ten dollars off
the first visit.
perhaps, tomorrow,
when the sun comes up
and i feel
i need it more.
to get home late,
when it's nearly dark.
the house looks much
cleaner then.
the dust and shoe marks
on the floor,
less obvious.
the unwiped counter,
the dishes
scattered on each table,
in twilight
the mess is somehow less
annoying and less
a pointed finger
at my laziness with
cleaning.
i stare at the coupon
that was slipped
under my door,
Rosa's Maid Service,
ten dollars off
the first visit.
perhaps, tomorrow,
when the sun comes up
and i feel
i need it more.
rosa's maid service
i prefer
to get home late,
when it's nearly dark.
the house looks much
cleaner then.
the dust and shoe marks
on the floor,
less obvious.
the unwiped counter,
the dishes
scattered on each table,
in twilight
the mess is somehow less
annoying and less
a pointed finger
at my laziness with
cleaning.
i stare at the coupon
that was slipped
under my door,
Rosa's Maid Service,
ten dollars off
the first visit.
perhaps, tomorrow,
when the sun comes up
and i feel
i need it more.
to get home late,
when it's nearly dark.
the house looks much
cleaner then.
the dust and shoe marks
on the floor,
less obvious.
the unwiped counter,
the dishes
scattered on each table,
in twilight
the mess is somehow less
annoying and less
a pointed finger
at my laziness with
cleaning.
i stare at the coupon
that was slipped
under my door,
Rosa's Maid Service,
ten dollars off
the first visit.
perhaps, tomorrow,
when the sun comes up
and i feel
i need it more.
what love is
the cat shows her love
and appreciation
for all that you do
by dropping
a dead mouse at
your feet
as you sit on the couch
watching television.
no words are said.
no exchange
of pleasantries.
just thank you, you say.
how nice,
as you go into the kitchen
for a dust pan
and a broom, setting
out cheese
and traps for other mice
that might be
running loose.
and appreciation
for all that you do
by dropping
a dead mouse at
your feet
as you sit on the couch
watching television.
no words are said.
no exchange
of pleasantries.
just thank you, you say.
how nice,
as you go into the kitchen
for a dust pan
and a broom, setting
out cheese
and traps for other mice
that might be
running loose.
what love is
the cat shows her love
and appreciation
for all that you do
by dropping
a dead mouse at
your feet
as you sit on the couch
watching television.
no words are said.
no exchange
of pleasantries.
just thank you, you say.
how nice,
as you go into the kitchen
for a dust pan
and a broom, setting
out cheese
and traps for other mice
that might be
running loose.
and appreciation
for all that you do
by dropping
a dead mouse at
your feet
as you sit on the couch
watching television.
no words are said.
no exchange
of pleasantries.
just thank you, you say.
how nice,
as you go into the kitchen
for a dust pan
and a broom, setting
out cheese
and traps for other mice
that might be
running loose.
the armed guard
the armed guard
lugging warily the white burlap
bags of cash
and coin, lumbers
from the block
truck, metal white,
meshed
and thickened
by fear of robbery. he
looks each
way before entering
the bank.
one hand
near a gun, a radio on
his shoulder.
all day, he does the same.
fearing life,
fearing death,
keeping his job
by protecting what isn't
his.
no different from me,
or others walking by,
I guess.
lugging warily the white burlap
bags of cash
and coin, lumbers
from the block
truck, metal white,
meshed
and thickened
by fear of robbery. he
looks each
way before entering
the bank.
one hand
near a gun, a radio on
his shoulder.
all day, he does the same.
fearing life,
fearing death,
keeping his job
by protecting what isn't
his.
no different from me,
or others walking by,
I guess.
the armed guard
the armed guard
lugging warily the white burlap
bags of cash
and coin, lumbers
from the block
truck, metal white,
meshed
and thickened
by fear of robbery. he
looks each
way before entering
the bank.
one hand
near a gun, a radio on
his shoulder.
all day, he does the same.
fearing life,
fearing death,
keeping his job
by protecting what isn't
his.
no different from me,
or others walking by,
I guess.
lugging warily the white burlap
bags of cash
and coin, lumbers
from the block
truck, metal white,
meshed
and thickened
by fear of robbery. he
looks each
way before entering
the bank.
one hand
near a gun, a radio on
his shoulder.
all day, he does the same.
fearing life,
fearing death,
keeping his job
by protecting what isn't
his.
no different from me,
or others walking by,
I guess.
leave it at that
it's too easy to take
a dream and pick it apart.
unpuzzle the pieces
of its vague
heart, make something
of it, write about
what it means,
paste it in a poem
call it
inspirational, or
revealing. it's just a dream
brought on
by too much drink,
bad food,
the window being open,
the cold air
against your bare feet.
an angry word or thought
left hanging
in the air.
I like dreaming.
I like the color, the escape,
the unreal realness
of it all, but I want
to leave it at that,
don't drag it into the light
of day,
pretend it's
something that it isn't,
something akin to
poetry.
a dream and pick it apart.
unpuzzle the pieces
of its vague
heart, make something
of it, write about
what it means,
paste it in a poem
call it
inspirational, or
revealing. it's just a dream
brought on
by too much drink,
bad food,
the window being open,
the cold air
against your bare feet.
an angry word or thought
left hanging
in the air.
I like dreaming.
I like the color, the escape,
the unreal realness
of it all, but I want
to leave it at that,
don't drag it into the light
of day,
pretend it's
something that it isn't,
something akin to
poetry.
leave it at that
it's too easy to take
a dream and pick it apart.
unpuzzle the pieces
of its vague
heart, make something
of it, write about
what it means,
paste it in a poem
call it
inspirational, or
revealing. it's just a dream
brought on
by too much drink,
bad food,
the window being open,
the cold air
against your bare feet.
an angry word or thought
left hanging
in the air.
I like dreaming.
I like the color, the escape,
the unreal realness
of it all, but I want
to leave it at that,
don't drag it into the light
of day,
pretend it's
something that it isn't,
something akin to
poetry.
a dream and pick it apart.
unpuzzle the pieces
of its vague
heart, make something
of it, write about
what it means,
paste it in a poem
call it
inspirational, or
revealing. it's just a dream
brought on
by too much drink,
bad food,
the window being open,
the cold air
against your bare feet.
an angry word or thought
left hanging
in the air.
I like dreaming.
I like the color, the escape,
the unreal realness
of it all, but I want
to leave it at that,
don't drag it into the light
of day,
pretend it's
something that it isn't,
something akin to
poetry.
vacancy
the empty apartment
has much to say. these floors,
hardwood, both blonde and brown,
scratched, corners
webbed in grey.
the avocado refrigerator
round shouldered
and stocky
like a Russian aunt.
your steps echo
against the thin walls
as you listen to
the clunk of the radiator,
hearing the whistle of
the broken window.
the toilet that never
stops running. there is
the rust ring in the tub,
a drip of soft
brown water clicking.
how many have
come and gone
from here, have jiggled the key
to turn the lock,
have rested
their heads on
striped pillows.
sat on a chair in front
of the window
and ate, watching who
came and went in the courtyard.
has much to say. these floors,
hardwood, both blonde and brown,
scratched, corners
webbed in grey.
the avocado refrigerator
round shouldered
and stocky
like a Russian aunt.
your steps echo
against the thin walls
as you listen to
the clunk of the radiator,
hearing the whistle of
the broken window.
the toilet that never
stops running. there is
the rust ring in the tub,
a drip of soft
brown water clicking.
how many have
come and gone
from here, have jiggled the key
to turn the lock,
have rested
their heads on
striped pillows.
sat on a chair in front
of the window
and ate, watching who
came and went in the courtyard.
listening
it's a day of listening.
the cab driver
with his radical world views.
the butcher
as he slices a few rib eyes
and wraps them,
expanding on his
take of love and death.
his hands and apron bloody.
the barista, with her
weather report
and knowledge of the amazon
jungles. the woe is
me diatribe of
the young that the world
is spinning too fast
towards an end.
the bartender. wiping his
clean cloth across the thick
polished bar.
pouring a gin and tonic,
talking wistfully about
remember when.
before the highway cut
the town in half. how the trolleys
ran. how people came in
here and talked, not
stared at their phones
or the television.
there' a part of you that wants
to join in,
but not today, today,
you take the time,
and listen.
the cab driver
with his radical world views.
the butcher
as he slices a few rib eyes
and wraps them,
expanding on his
take of love and death.
his hands and apron bloody.
the barista, with her
weather report
and knowledge of the amazon
jungles. the woe is
me diatribe of
the young that the world
is spinning too fast
towards an end.
the bartender. wiping his
clean cloth across the thick
polished bar.
pouring a gin and tonic,
talking wistfully about
remember when.
before the highway cut
the town in half. how the trolleys
ran. how people came in
here and talked, not
stared at their phones
or the television.
there' a part of you that wants
to join in,
but not today, today,
you take the time,
and listen.
listening
it's a day of listening.
the cab driver
with his radical world views.
the butcher
as he slices a few rib eyes
and wraps them,
expanding on his
take of love and death.
his hands and apron bloody.
the barista, with her
weather report
and knowledge of the amazon
jungles. the woe is
me diatribe of
the young that the world
is spinning too fast
towards an end.
the bartender. wiping his
clean cloth across the thick
polished bar.
pouring a gin and tonic,
talking wistfully about
remember when.
before the highway cut
the town in half. how the trolleys
ran. how people came in
here and talked, not
stared at their phones
or the television.
there' a part of you that wants
to join in,
but not today, today,
you take the time,
and listen.
the cab driver
with his radical world views.
the butcher
as he slices a few rib eyes
and wraps them,
expanding on his
take of love and death.
his hands and apron bloody.
the barista, with her
weather report
and knowledge of the amazon
jungles. the woe is
me diatribe of
the young that the world
is spinning too fast
towards an end.
the bartender. wiping his
clean cloth across the thick
polished bar.
pouring a gin and tonic,
talking wistfully about
remember when.
before the highway cut
the town in half. how the trolleys
ran. how people came in
here and talked, not
stared at their phones
or the television.
there' a part of you that wants
to join in,
but not today, today,
you take the time,
and listen.
calling rhonda
the angel on your shoulder
is tired.
tired of debating
the good and bad things
that you do, or don't do.
he wants a break,
a vacation, but he worries
you'll go completely
to the other side.
you worry about this too
as you feel
the pinch of the pitchfork
on your other shoulder,
hearing the whisper for you
to call Rhonda,
the alley cat,
to see what she's up to.
is tired.
tired of debating
the good and bad things
that you do, or don't do.
he wants a break,
a vacation, but he worries
you'll go completely
to the other side.
you worry about this too
as you feel
the pinch of the pitchfork
on your other shoulder,
hearing the whisper for you
to call Rhonda,
the alley cat,
to see what she's up to.
donations
someone tells you
that they saw you the other day
on the street.
you tell them it wasn't you.
it was someone that
looked exactly
like me.
but it wasn't me.
no, they said, i'm sure
it was you.
you were standing at
the corner with a red
can, a sign, you
were reaching
into the windows of stopped
cars for donations
to your own personal fund.
impossible, you tell
them. it couldn't have
been me, I never work
that corner.
I prefer the intersection
of union and king.
that they saw you the other day
on the street.
you tell them it wasn't you.
it was someone that
looked exactly
like me.
but it wasn't me.
no, they said, i'm sure
it was you.
you were standing at
the corner with a red
can, a sign, you
were reaching
into the windows of stopped
cars for donations
to your own personal fund.
impossible, you tell
them. it couldn't have
been me, I never work
that corner.
I prefer the intersection
of union and king.
donations
someone tells you
that they saw you the other day
on the street.
you tell them it wasn't you.
it was someone that
looked exactly
like me.
but it wasn't me.
no, they said, i'm sure
it was you.
you were standing at
the corner with a red
can, a sign, you
were reaching
into the windows of stopped
cars for donations
to your own personal fund.
impossible, you tell
them. it couldn't have
been me, I never work
that corner.
I prefer the intersection
of union and king.
that they saw you the other day
on the street.
you tell them it wasn't you.
it was someone that
looked exactly
like me.
but it wasn't me.
no, they said, i'm sure
it was you.
you were standing at
the corner with a red
can, a sign, you
were reaching
into the windows of stopped
cars for donations
to your own personal fund.
impossible, you tell
them. it couldn't have
been me, I never work
that corner.
I prefer the intersection
of union and king.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
the things she needs
you send the steak
back.
so tough, too thick
and browned
to cut.
you try. taking the sharp
knife and press
down.
not a drop of blood,
or juice.
it's leather.
the waitress sees
you struggling to chew
the piece you finally
convince to break
free,
but she says nothing.
the whole room
is gnawing
at this beef. the Thursday
special
with cold vegetables,
bread,
a glass of wine, tea.
she worries about the bill,
the tip.
the things
she needs.
back.
so tough, too thick
and browned
to cut.
you try. taking the sharp
knife and press
down.
not a drop of blood,
or juice.
it's leather.
the waitress sees
you struggling to chew
the piece you finally
convince to break
free,
but she says nothing.
the whole room
is gnawing
at this beef. the Thursday
special
with cold vegetables,
bread,
a glass of wine, tea.
she worries about the bill,
the tip.
the things
she needs.
the things she needs
you send the steak
back.
so tough, too thick
and browned
to cut.
you try. taking the sharp
knife and press
down.
not a drop of blood,
or juice.
it's leather.
the waitress sees
you struggling to chew
the piece you finally
convince to break
free,
but she says nothing.
the whole room
is gnawing
at this beef. the Thursday
special
with cold vegetables,
bread,
a glass of wine, tea.
she worries about the bill,
the tip.
the things
she needs.
back.
so tough, too thick
and browned
to cut.
you try. taking the sharp
knife and press
down.
not a drop of blood,
or juice.
it's leather.
the waitress sees
you struggling to chew
the piece you finally
convince to break
free,
but she says nothing.
the whole room
is gnawing
at this beef. the Thursday
special
with cold vegetables,
bread,
a glass of wine, tea.
she worries about the bill,
the tip.
the things
she needs.
her safe
while asleep
I find the dial to her
heart
and put my
ear to her chest,
slowly turning,
listening to the clicks,
trying to open
the door
to who she really is.
to understand
the beauty or darkness
that lies within.
she may be sleeping,
or awake,
it doesn't matter,
she's knows I
can't get in until
she says so.
I find the dial to her
heart
and put my
ear to her chest,
slowly turning,
listening to the clicks,
trying to open
the door
to who she really is.
to understand
the beauty or darkness
that lies within.
she may be sleeping,
or awake,
it doesn't matter,
she's knows I
can't get in until
she says so.
her safe
while asleep
I find the dial to her
heart
and put my
ear to her chest,
slowly turning,
listening to the clicks,
trying to open
the door
to who she really is.
to understand
the beauty or darkness
that lies within.
she may be sleeping,
or awake,
it doesn't matter,
she's knows I
can't get in until
she says so.
I find the dial to her
heart
and put my
ear to her chest,
slowly turning,
listening to the clicks,
trying to open
the door
to who she really is.
to understand
the beauty or darkness
that lies within.
she may be sleeping,
or awake,
it doesn't matter,
she's knows I
can't get in until
she says so.
wild flowers
on a whim
I purchased then
tossed the seeds of wild
flowers
in the yard
of dirt and ivy.
weeds.
two or three envelopes.
the photo on
the front showed
purple and pink,
passionate colors, bright
and glorious
in whatever sun
they grew under. blue and
yellow stars.
nothing came.
winter iced the yard.
the rains.
the stamping of my feet
coming and going.
then it happened.
there they were.
the flowers were everywhere.
delicate petals
defying everything,
including me.
I purchased then
tossed the seeds of wild
flowers
in the yard
of dirt and ivy.
weeds.
two or three envelopes.
the photo on
the front showed
purple and pink,
passionate colors, bright
and glorious
in whatever sun
they grew under. blue and
yellow stars.
nothing came.
winter iced the yard.
the rains.
the stamping of my feet
coming and going.
then it happened.
there they were.
the flowers were everywhere.
delicate petals
defying everything,
including me.
wild flowers
on a whim
I purchased then
tossed the seeds of wild
flowers
in the yard
of dirt and ivy.
weeds.
two or three envelopes.
the photo on
the front showed
purple and pink,
passionate colors, bright
and glorious
in whatever sun
they grew under. blue and
yellow stars.
nothing came.
winter iced the yard.
the rains.
the stamping of my feet
coming and going.
then it happened.
there they were.
the flowers were everywhere.
delicate petals
defying everything,
including me.
I purchased then
tossed the seeds of wild
flowers
in the yard
of dirt and ivy.
weeds.
two or three envelopes.
the photo on
the front showed
purple and pink,
passionate colors, bright
and glorious
in whatever sun
they grew under. blue and
yellow stars.
nothing came.
winter iced the yard.
the rains.
the stamping of my feet
coming and going.
then it happened.
there they were.
the flowers were everywhere.
delicate petals
defying everything,
including me.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
in the woods
let's meet in the woods
she tells
you cryptically.
on neutral ground.
behind the oaks,
the maples,
the pines.
our feet ankle high
in leaves,
in soil,
ivy and twine.
let's go where it's dark
and quiet.
let's strip off our clothes,
leave our books,
our lies,
our families behind.
let's see who
we really are.
let's meet in the woods.
bring your heart,
i'll bring mine.
she tells
you cryptically.
on neutral ground.
behind the oaks,
the maples,
the pines.
our feet ankle high
in leaves,
in soil,
ivy and twine.
let's go where it's dark
and quiet.
let's strip off our clothes,
leave our books,
our lies,
our families behind.
let's see who
we really are.
let's meet in the woods.
bring your heart,
i'll bring mine.
another day
your factory work ethic
contributes
much
to how sore you are in
the morning.
the ache
of yesterday still lingering
in each stride,
each reach of an
arm over your head
to open
a can of something
to eat.
you see a line of smoke
stacks
on the horizon
fuming blue
and grey and feel good
about that.
there is work to be done,
to be had.
this will keep you
going. keep the dog's
tail wagging,
a roof over your head,
the dream of love
within reach
for another day.
contributes
much
to how sore you are in
the morning.
the ache
of yesterday still lingering
in each stride,
each reach of an
arm over your head
to open
a can of something
to eat.
you see a line of smoke
stacks
on the horizon
fuming blue
and grey and feel good
about that.
there is work to be done,
to be had.
this will keep you
going. keep the dog's
tail wagging,
a roof over your head,
the dream of love
within reach
for another day.
another day
your factory work ethic
contributes
much
to how sore you are in
the morning.
the ache
of yesterday still lingering
in each stride,
each reach of an
arm over your head
to open
a can of something
to eat.
you see a line of smoke
stacks
on the horizon
fuming blue
and grey and feel good
about that.
there is work to be done,
to be had.
this will keep you
going. keep the dog's
tail wagging,
a roof over your head,
the dream of love
within reach
for another day.
contributes
much
to how sore you are in
the morning.
the ache
of yesterday still lingering
in each stride,
each reach of an
arm over your head
to open
a can of something
to eat.
you see a line of smoke
stacks
on the horizon
fuming blue
and grey and feel good
about that.
there is work to be done,
to be had.
this will keep you
going. keep the dog's
tail wagging,
a roof over your head,
the dream of love
within reach
for another day.
the poetry class
when she taught poetry
she'd stand
in front of the class and pace
back and forth.
staring at the ceiling,
reciting poems she'd memorized.
sometimes she'd forget
to set her purse down,
keeping it strapped
around shoulder.
if she saw something out
the window, she'd stop
and say, oh look at that.
a firetruck is going by.
there were times you felt
that you learned nothing from her,
and then other times,
like today, you realize
how much you did.
she'd stand
in front of the class and pace
back and forth.
staring at the ceiling,
reciting poems she'd memorized.
sometimes she'd forget
to set her purse down,
keeping it strapped
around shoulder.
if she saw something out
the window, she'd stop
and say, oh look at that.
a firetruck is going by.
there were times you felt
that you learned nothing from her,
and then other times,
like today, you realize
how much you did.
the poetry class
when she taught poetry
she'd stand
in front of the class and pace
back and forth.
staring at the ceiling,
reciting poems she'd memorized.
sometimes she'd forget
to set her purse down,
keeping it strapped
around shoulder.
if she saw something out
the window, she'd stop
and say, oh look at that.
a firetruck is going by.
there were times you felt
that you learned nothing from her,
and then other times,
like today, you realize
how much you did.
she'd stand
in front of the class and pace
back and forth.
staring at the ceiling,
reciting poems she'd memorized.
sometimes she'd forget
to set her purse down,
keeping it strapped
around shoulder.
if she saw something out
the window, she'd stop
and say, oh look at that.
a firetruck is going by.
there were times you felt
that you learned nothing from her,
and then other times,
like today, you realize
how much you did.
the twenty minute visit
it comes down to this.
the group house.
the name tags smoothed
against
the dresser drawers in
the living room.
wide spaces for walkers
and wheel chairs.
something
steaming on the stove,
a vegetable unsalted.
the tv on.
the tv always on.
as if silence would seal
the deal.
be a sign of surrender
to this earth
that calls for you to
quit, to lie down
and exhale what's left.
the tired visitor
on the couch,
saying things that you
say to babies
when they are born.
twenty minutes is
a lifetime.
the group house.
the name tags smoothed
against
the dresser drawers in
the living room.
wide spaces for walkers
and wheel chairs.
something
steaming on the stove,
a vegetable unsalted.
the tv on.
the tv always on.
as if silence would seal
the deal.
be a sign of surrender
to this earth
that calls for you to
quit, to lie down
and exhale what's left.
the tired visitor
on the couch,
saying things that you
say to babies
when they are born.
twenty minutes is
a lifetime.
the twenty minute visit
it comes down to this.
the group house.
the name tags smoothed
against
the dresser drawers in
the living room.
wide spaces for walkers
and wheel chairs.
something
steaming on the stove,
a vegetable unsalted.
the tv on.
the tv always on.
as if silence would seal
the deal.
be a sign of surrender
to this earth
that calls for you to
quit, to lie down
and exhale what's left.
the tired visitor
on the couch,
saying things that you
say to babies
when they are born.
twenty minutes is
a lifetime.
the group house.
the name tags smoothed
against
the dresser drawers in
the living room.
wide spaces for walkers
and wheel chairs.
something
steaming on the stove,
a vegetable unsalted.
the tv on.
the tv always on.
as if silence would seal
the deal.
be a sign of surrender
to this earth
that calls for you to
quit, to lie down
and exhale what's left.
the tired visitor
on the couch,
saying things that you
say to babies
when they are born.
twenty minutes is
a lifetime.
red underwear
some mornings you can't decide
what color underwear
to wear.
you spread them out on the bed
to help you make
your selection.
grey, blue, black, white.
red.
it surprises you that you have
a pair of red
underwear.
a valentine's gift
from someone.
they are silky with little
white hearts on them.
buttons too.
they have the faint scent of
cinnamon on them
for some reason.
no.
maybe black today.
what color underwear
to wear.
you spread them out on the bed
to help you make
your selection.
grey, blue, black, white.
red.
it surprises you that you have
a pair of red
underwear.
a valentine's gift
from someone.
they are silky with little
white hearts on them.
buttons too.
they have the faint scent of
cinnamon on them
for some reason.
no.
maybe black today.
red underwear
some mornings you can't decide
what color underwear
to wear.
you spread them out on the bed
to help you make
your selection.
grey, blue, black, white.
red.
it surprises you that you have
a pair of red
underwear.
a valentine's gift
from someone.
they are silky with little
white hearts on them.
buttons too.
they have the faint scent of
cinnamon on them
for some reason.
no.
maybe black today.
what color underwear
to wear.
you spread them out on the bed
to help you make
your selection.
grey, blue, black, white.
red.
it surprises you that you have
a pair of red
underwear.
a valentine's gift
from someone.
they are silky with little
white hearts on them.
buttons too.
they have the faint scent of
cinnamon on them
for some reason.
no.
maybe black today.
the fish tank
the police fund calls
you.
a serious man
on the other end of the line
with a deep voice.
you begin
to pace the kitchen,
eating rapidly
whatever snacks you can
find.
what does he know?
how could he know
the things you've done.
just a small donation, he
says,
and you'll get a sticker
saying that
you've contributed.
a police sticker for your
bumper.
you look out the window,
but don't see
any squad cars, no cop
walking the beat
swinging his club and whistling
Dixie.
maybe there's a way
out of this.
sure, you say. can I send
five dollars.
or can I just set it out
on the porch,
under the mat?
leave the sticker there.
you hang up and draw the shades.
you crawl over
to the fish tank,
and stare at the fish for
awhile to wait it out.
you.
a serious man
on the other end of the line
with a deep voice.
you begin
to pace the kitchen,
eating rapidly
whatever snacks you can
find.
what does he know?
how could he know
the things you've done.
just a small donation, he
says,
and you'll get a sticker
saying that
you've contributed.
a police sticker for your
bumper.
you look out the window,
but don't see
any squad cars, no cop
walking the beat
swinging his club and whistling
Dixie.
maybe there's a way
out of this.
sure, you say. can I send
five dollars.
or can I just set it out
on the porch,
under the mat?
leave the sticker there.
you hang up and draw the shades.
you crawl over
to the fish tank,
and stare at the fish for
awhile to wait it out.
the fish tank
the police fund calls
you.
a serious man
on the other end of the line
with a deep voice.
you begin
to pace the kitchen,
eating rapidly
whatever snacks you can
find.
what does he know?
how could he know
the things you've done.
just a small donation, he
says,
and you'll get a sticker
saying that
you've contributed.
a police sticker for your
bumper.
you look out the window,
but don't see
any squad cars, no cop
walking the beat
swinging his club and whistling
Dixie.
maybe there's a way
out of this.
sure, you say. can I send
five dollars.
or can I just set it out
on the porch,
under the mat?
leave the sticker there.
you hang up and draw the shades.
you crawl over
to the fish tank,
and stare at the fish for
awhile to wait it out.
you.
a serious man
on the other end of the line
with a deep voice.
you begin
to pace the kitchen,
eating rapidly
whatever snacks you can
find.
what does he know?
how could he know
the things you've done.
just a small donation, he
says,
and you'll get a sticker
saying that
you've contributed.
a police sticker for your
bumper.
you look out the window,
but don't see
any squad cars, no cop
walking the beat
swinging his club and whistling
Dixie.
maybe there's a way
out of this.
sure, you say. can I send
five dollars.
or can I just set it out
on the porch,
under the mat?
leave the sticker there.
you hang up and draw the shades.
you crawl over
to the fish tank,
and stare at the fish for
awhile to wait it out.
to a point
the dog is in the paint.
his paws
smudge
and imprint the floor,
the rug,
the brown couch,
all spotted now with white.
you could kill
the dog, but that wouldn't
help things.
so you take a sponge,
a spray
and go about
the job of cleaning up
what the former love
of your life
has done. we accept mistakes
so easily,
when love
is involved,
to a point.
his paws
smudge
and imprint the floor,
the rug,
the brown couch,
all spotted now with white.
you could kill
the dog, but that wouldn't
help things.
so you take a sponge,
a spray
and go about
the job of cleaning up
what the former love
of your life
has done. we accept mistakes
so easily,
when love
is involved,
to a point.
to a point
the dog is in the paint.
his paws
smudge
and imprint the floor,
the rug,
the brown couch,
all spotted now with white.
you could kill
the dog, but that wouldn't
help things.
so you take a sponge,
a spray
and go about
the job of cleaning up
what the former love
of your life
has done. we accept mistakes
so easily,
when love
is involved,
to a point.
his paws
smudge
and imprint the floor,
the rug,
the brown couch,
all spotted now with white.
you could kill
the dog, but that wouldn't
help things.
so you take a sponge,
a spray
and go about
the job of cleaning up
what the former love
of your life
has done. we accept mistakes
so easily,
when love
is involved,
to a point.
Friday, April 1, 2016
this side up
the letters are upside
down on the box
delivered.
this side up it says.
too late for that.
whatever it is,
too bad.
sometimes I need arrows
on myself
to remain upright.
close to teetering over
from the spin
of the world.
i'll open it tomorrow,
bad news
will last. I need
to lie down. I hope
it's not a cake.
down on the box
delivered.
this side up it says.
too late for that.
whatever it is,
too bad.
sometimes I need arrows
on myself
to remain upright.
close to teetering over
from the spin
of the world.
i'll open it tomorrow,
bad news
will last. I need
to lie down. I hope
it's not a cake.
this side up
the letters are upside
down on the box
delivered.
this side up it says.
too late for that.
whatever it is,
too bad.
sometimes I need arrows
on myself
to remain upright.
close to teetering over
from the spin
of the world.
i'll open it tomorrow,
bad news
will last. I need
to lie down. I hope
it's not a cake.
down on the box
delivered.
this side up it says.
too late for that.
whatever it is,
too bad.
sometimes I need arrows
on myself
to remain upright.
close to teetering over
from the spin
of the world.
i'll open it tomorrow,
bad news
will last. I need
to lie down. I hope
it's not a cake.
one good thing
the day escapes
from your hands. there was a book
you were reading earlier.
it's somewhere,
then the phone rang,
someone was at the door.
mail cascaded
through the slot.
there was beeping coming
from the clock
that fell,
the dryer signaling
done. hard to imagine
where it went.
what was accomplished
along the way, I did think
of you though.
that's something.
a good thing, i'm saved
and filled by that.
from your hands. there was a book
you were reading earlier.
it's somewhere,
then the phone rang,
someone was at the door.
mail cascaded
through the slot.
there was beeping coming
from the clock
that fell,
the dryer signaling
done. hard to imagine
where it went.
what was accomplished
along the way, I did think
of you though.
that's something.
a good thing, i'm saved
and filled by that.
one good thing
the day escapes
from your hands. there was a book
you were reading earlier.
it's somewhere,
then the phone rang,
someone was at the door.
mail cascaded
through the slot.
there was beeping coming
from the clock
that fell,
the dryer signaling
done. hard to imagine
where it went.
what was accomplished
along the way, I did think
of you though.
that's something.
a good thing, i'm saved
and filled by that.
from your hands. there was a book
you were reading earlier.
it's somewhere,
then the phone rang,
someone was at the door.
mail cascaded
through the slot.
there was beeping coming
from the clock
that fell,
the dryer signaling
done. hard to imagine
where it went.
what was accomplished
along the way, I did think
of you though.
that's something.
a good thing, i'm saved
and filled by that.
a cold whine
stop your whining
she says.
If you want clouds
and despair,
rain,
a cold wind off the sound,
come here.
come here and stand
with me
in seattle.
stare up at the snow
capped mountains,
look north
to the border.
even the salmon are
shivering
as they swim upstream
grabbed
by the fat paws of brown
bears.
stop your whining
she says.
put on your waist high
boots,
your mountain hat,
your mohair sweater
and come here.
we can whine together.
she says.
If you want clouds
and despair,
rain,
a cold wind off the sound,
come here.
come here and stand
with me
in seattle.
stare up at the snow
capped mountains,
look north
to the border.
even the salmon are
shivering
as they swim upstream
grabbed
by the fat paws of brown
bears.
stop your whining
she says.
put on your waist high
boots,
your mountain hat,
your mohair sweater
and come here.
we can whine together.
a cold whine
stop your whining
she says.
If you want clouds
and despair,
rain,
a cold wind off the sound,
come here.
come here and stand
with me
in seattle.
stare up at the snow
capped mountains,
look north
to the border.
even the salmon are
shivering
as they swim upstream
grabbed
by the fat paws of brown
bears.
stop your whining
she says.
put on your waist high
boots,
your mountain hat,
your mohair sweater
and come here.
we can whine together.
she says.
If you want clouds
and despair,
rain,
a cold wind off the sound,
come here.
come here and stand
with me
in seattle.
stare up at the snow
capped mountains,
look north
to the border.
even the salmon are
shivering
as they swim upstream
grabbed
by the fat paws of brown
bears.
stop your whining
she says.
put on your waist high
boots,
your mountain hat,
your mohair sweater
and come here.
we can whine together.
the examination
like an old horse
you stand
unsaddled, unbridled,
legs
bent, rising from
the tiled floor.
a steel light overhead.
the doctor, a she,
stands back, a measured
distance,
glasses perched
solidly on an educated
nose.
turn around, she says.
look up.
look down. her hand
reaches for your chin,
two fingers pressing
you to move left,
then right.
she pulls on an arm,
then listens to the cave
of your heart,
your pickled lungs,
both front
and back.
open your mouth, she
says.
stick out your tongue.
what hurts,
she finally asks. why
are you here.
what's taken you so long
to realize
you're no longer
young?
you stand
unsaddled, unbridled,
legs
bent, rising from
the tiled floor.
a steel light overhead.
the doctor, a she,
stands back, a measured
distance,
glasses perched
solidly on an educated
nose.
turn around, she says.
look up.
look down. her hand
reaches for your chin,
two fingers pressing
you to move left,
then right.
she pulls on an arm,
then listens to the cave
of your heart,
your pickled lungs,
both front
and back.
open your mouth, she
says.
stick out your tongue.
what hurts,
she finally asks. why
are you here.
what's taken you so long
to realize
you're no longer
young?
donuts and rocket ships
i'm not charging you
today,
my therapist tells me.
I think you've done more to help
me than
I've helped you.
you are so wise and insightful.
why thanks, I tell her.
you're such a good listener.
hey, I know,
let's switch, i tell
her. i'll sit there
and you sit or lie down
here on this chaise
lounge.
okay, she says, handing me
her pad. I tell her to take
her shoes off
and relax.
I look at her spiral notebook.
it's doodles mostly.
hearts with arrows through them.
I thought
she was taking notes.
there are
poorly drawn cats and dogs.
there are some
things drawn that appear to
be rather sexual.
donuts, and rocket ships.
oh my, I say out loud,
flipping the page over.
so tell me about your mother
I ask her.
remember, no
judgement here. we are here
to discover and heal.
today,
my therapist tells me.
I think you've done more to help
me than
I've helped you.
you are so wise and insightful.
why thanks, I tell her.
you're such a good listener.
hey, I know,
let's switch, i tell
her. i'll sit there
and you sit or lie down
here on this chaise
lounge.
okay, she says, handing me
her pad. I tell her to take
her shoes off
and relax.
I look at her spiral notebook.
it's doodles mostly.
hearts with arrows through them.
I thought
she was taking notes.
there are
poorly drawn cats and dogs.
there are some
things drawn that appear to
be rather sexual.
donuts, and rocket ships.
oh my, I say out loud,
flipping the page over.
so tell me about your mother
I ask her.
remember, no
judgement here. we are here
to discover and heal.
nine feet down
the worst job
you ever had was digging ditches.
slapping tar
onto the side of new houses
that were cracked
from the footer up,
allowing water to seep into
the basements.
nine feet down, a long narrow
ditch, two feet wide,
in the clay and mud.
hammering boards
to keep it from collapsing
and crushing your
lungs before they could
dig you out. a knotted rope
was lowered for escape.
in the winter.
the shovels broke when stamped
into the ground.
the metal, frozen
and cracked. the axes would
bounce and nearly
strike you.
sometimes you'd stand with
the lucky others,
a cup of 7-11
coffee, around a barrel
of fire, rubbing your hands
together, shivering,
waiting for the sun to
get higher.
you're still waiting.
you ever had was digging ditches.
slapping tar
onto the side of new houses
that were cracked
from the footer up,
allowing water to seep into
the basements.
nine feet down, a long narrow
ditch, two feet wide,
in the clay and mud.
hammering boards
to keep it from collapsing
and crushing your
lungs before they could
dig you out. a knotted rope
was lowered for escape.
in the winter.
the shovels broke when stamped
into the ground.
the metal, frozen
and cracked. the axes would
bounce and nearly
strike you.
sometimes you'd stand with
the lucky others,
a cup of 7-11
coffee, around a barrel
of fire, rubbing your hands
together, shivering,
waiting for the sun to
get higher.
you're still waiting.
tv land
you fall into the habit
of tuning on the television
when you get home,
bone weary from work.
a sandwich, a glass of milk.
you take your shoes
off and sit on the couch
feet up.
you watch an entire episode
of Gunsmoke,
a show you never watched
when it was really on.
but now you're engaged.
the horses, the dust and
hills. the moral mini
drama unfolding slowly
before your eyes. it's not
Shakespeare or Mamet,
or Eugene O'Neil, but
it has its place.
sometimes you fall asleep
before it's over.
someone gets shot,
Matt gets his man, Kitty
blinks her blue eyes
and smiles, no one important
dies,
and Festus says something
clever in the end.
of tuning on the television
when you get home,
bone weary from work.
a sandwich, a glass of milk.
you take your shoes
off and sit on the couch
feet up.
you watch an entire episode
of Gunsmoke,
a show you never watched
when it was really on.
but now you're engaged.
the horses, the dust and
hills. the moral mini
drama unfolding slowly
before your eyes. it's not
Shakespeare or Mamet,
or Eugene O'Neil, but
it has its place.
sometimes you fall asleep
before it's over.
someone gets shot,
Matt gets his man, Kitty
blinks her blue eyes
and smiles, no one important
dies,
and Festus says something
clever in the end.
tv land
you fall into the habit
of tuning on the television
when you get home,
bone weary from work.
a sandwich, a glass of milk.
you take your shoes
off and sit on the couch
feet up.
you watch an entire episode
of Gunsmoke,
a show you never watched
when it was really on.
but now you're engaged.
the horses, the dust and
hills. the moral mini
drama unfolding slowly
before your eyes. it's not
Shakespeare or Mamet,
or Eugene O'Neil, but
it has its place.
sometimes you fall asleep
before it's over.
someone gets shot,
Matt gets his man, Kitty
blinks her blue eyes
and smiles, no one important
dies,
and Festus says something
clever in the end.
of tuning on the television
when you get home,
bone weary from work.
a sandwich, a glass of milk.
you take your shoes
off and sit on the couch
feet up.
you watch an entire episode
of Gunsmoke,
a show you never watched
when it was really on.
but now you're engaged.
the horses, the dust and
hills. the moral mini
drama unfolding slowly
before your eyes. it's not
Shakespeare or Mamet,
or Eugene O'Neil, but
it has its place.
sometimes you fall asleep
before it's over.
someone gets shot,
Matt gets his man, Kitty
blinks her blue eyes
and smiles, no one important
dies,
and Festus says something
clever in the end.
unchained
sometimes the noose
around your neck was tight,
other days
loose, almost to the point where
you felt you could slip
out of it.
it's not that you didn't
like the married life.
but there were days,
when you wanted to run
free, like a wild
dog, over the fence,
off the chain, chasing
something you've seen
in the woods.
how times have changed.
it's all you do now, is run,
and chase, the noose untied
and gone.
around your neck was tight,
other days
loose, almost to the point where
you felt you could slip
out of it.
it's not that you didn't
like the married life.
but there were days,
when you wanted to run
free, like a wild
dog, over the fence,
off the chain, chasing
something you've seen
in the woods.
how times have changed.
it's all you do now, is run,
and chase, the noose untied
and gone.
the good china
it's rare that I put out
the good china
anymore.
why bother with Chinese
delivery.
the box works fine.
I used to though,
when married, or rather
she did.
the bone white china
with little gold
emblems all around.
shiny in the overhead light.
not dishwasher safe,
so you knew it
was good.
it sits out of sight,
unused, collecting
dust behind
the closet door.
maybe in the fall i'll
find a recipe
that deserves such a dish.
bring out the tea cups
too and the gravy
boat, the butter
tray, the dessert plates,
smaller than the rest.
the good china
anymore.
why bother with Chinese
delivery.
the box works fine.
I used to though,
when married, or rather
she did.
the bone white china
with little gold
emblems all around.
shiny in the overhead light.
not dishwasher safe,
so you knew it
was good.
it sits out of sight,
unused, collecting
dust behind
the closet door.
maybe in the fall i'll
find a recipe
that deserves such a dish.
bring out the tea cups
too and the gravy
boat, the butter
tray, the dessert plates,
smaller than the rest.
the good china
it's rare that I put out
the good china
anymore.
why bother with Chinese
delivery.
the box works fine.
I used to though,
when married, or rather
she did.
the bone white china
with little gold
emblems all around.
shiny in the overhead light.
not dishwasher safe,
so you knew it
was good.
it sits out of sight,
unused, collecting
dust behind
the closet door.
maybe in the fall i'll
find a recipe
that deserves such a dish.
bring out the tea cups
too and the gravy
boat, the butter
tray, the dessert plates,
smaller than the rest.
the good china
anymore.
why bother with Chinese
delivery.
the box works fine.
I used to though,
when married, or rather
she did.
the bone white china
with little gold
emblems all around.
shiny in the overhead light.
not dishwasher safe,
so you knew it
was good.
it sits out of sight,
unused, collecting
dust behind
the closet door.
maybe in the fall i'll
find a recipe
that deserves such a dish.
bring out the tea cups
too and the gravy
boat, the butter
tray, the dessert plates,
smaller than the rest.
taxed
my tax lady
betty is dragging her feet
on having my
taxes done. she's been sitting
on my paperwork since
late February.
it must mean I owe,
she's delaying the inevitable
phone call
to tell me so.
I hope we both don't go
to jail
this year, she'll say.
but you owe.
this for fed
and this for state.
I assume you are putting
your usual pitiful
amount into your four oh
one K.
but they're ready now.
all you need is to come
down and sign
before the fifteenth.
betty is dragging her feet
on having my
taxes done. she's been sitting
on my paperwork since
late February.
it must mean I owe,
she's delaying the inevitable
phone call
to tell me so.
I hope we both don't go
to jail
this year, she'll say.
but you owe.
this for fed
and this for state.
I assume you are putting
your usual pitiful
amount into your four oh
one K.
but they're ready now.
all you need is to come
down and sign
before the fifteenth.
it's about me
strange that you see your
doctor, your lawyer
and your tax accountant all
having lunch together
at the same
table.
hmmm. you say. what is
going on here?
you walk over to them,
which makes the conversation
suddenly end.
then you see your mother
coming over,
out of the restroom,
taking a seat at the table
too.
you say hello, she says hello
back. then tells you.
nice to see you, we'd ask
you to join, but it's
a business meeting.
oh, you say, okay. we'll
goodbye, have a nice day.
you try to shake it off,
but you have this funny feeling
all day that they might
be talking about you.
doctor, your lawyer
and your tax accountant all
having lunch together
at the same
table.
hmmm. you say. what is
going on here?
you walk over to them,
which makes the conversation
suddenly end.
then you see your mother
coming over,
out of the restroom,
taking a seat at the table
too.
you say hello, she says hello
back. then tells you.
nice to see you, we'd ask
you to join, but it's
a business meeting.
oh, you say, okay. we'll
goodbye, have a nice day.
you try to shake it off,
but you have this funny feeling
all day that they might
be talking about you.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
the cloud
this cloud
won't budge. hard to know why
exactly.
but all day
it lingers above
you. not swept
away by wind,
or emptied of rain.
just a cloud.
grey and white
darkening the sky.
some days are like that.
sometimes
a week will pass
before the sun comes
through.
all you can do is
wait.
won't budge. hard to know why
exactly.
but all day
it lingers above
you. not swept
away by wind,
or emptied of rain.
just a cloud.
grey and white
darkening the sky.
some days are like that.
sometimes
a week will pass
before the sun comes
through.
all you can do is
wait.
the cloud
this cloud
won't budge. hard to know why
exactly.
but all day
it lingers above
you. not swept
away by wind,
or emptied of rain.
just a cloud.
grey and white
darkening the sky.
some days are like that.
sometimes
a week will pass
before the sun comes
through.
all you can do is
wait.
won't budge. hard to know why
exactly.
but all day
it lingers above
you. not swept
away by wind,
or emptied of rain.
just a cloud.
grey and white
darkening the sky.
some days are like that.
sometimes
a week will pass
before the sun comes
through.
all you can do is
wait.
the apple
you have no guilt
with the apple
stolen from a tree.
it's just an apple.
a crisp bite
into its green thin hide,
the tart
pucker of its white.
you have no guilt
with the apple,
you might have two
in fact, one more
out of spite.
with the apple
stolen from a tree.
it's just an apple.
a crisp bite
into its green thin hide,
the tart
pucker of its white.
you have no guilt
with the apple,
you might have two
in fact, one more
out of spite.
the apple
you have no guilt
with the apple
stolen from a tree.
it's just an apple.
a crisp bite
into its green thin hide,
the tart
pucker of its white.
you have no guilt
with the apple,
you might have two
in fact, one more
out of spite.
with the apple
stolen from a tree.
it's just an apple.
a crisp bite
into its green thin hide,
the tart
pucker of its white.
you have no guilt
with the apple,
you might have two
in fact, one more
out of spite.
we swim
how much do you need.
how many numbers
on the balance sheet.
how many forks,
knives,
spoons, plates.
glasses to drink from
do you need
on the shelf.
another bed? how many
lovers will it take
to say enough.
a bigger room.
a yard that stretches.
maybe an oak
tree,
a willow.
a cherry blossom
in bloom.
how many cars do you need
in the garage,
more books, more clothes
more things.
the drowning of ourselves
goes on.
in too much
we swim.
how many numbers
on the balance sheet.
how many forks,
knives,
spoons, plates.
glasses to drink from
do you need
on the shelf.
another bed? how many
lovers will it take
to say enough.
a bigger room.
a yard that stretches.
maybe an oak
tree,
a willow.
a cherry blossom
in bloom.
how many cars do you need
in the garage,
more books, more clothes
more things.
the drowning of ourselves
goes on.
in too much
we swim.
we swim
how much do you need.
how many numbers
on the balance sheet.
how many forks,
knives,
spoons, plates.
glasses to drink from
do you need
on the shelf.
another bed? how many
lovers will it take
to say enough.
a bigger room.
a yard that stretches.
maybe an oak
tree,
a willow.
a cherry blossom
in bloom.
how many cars do you need
in the garage,
more books, more clothes
more things.
the drowning of ourselves
goes on.
in too much
we swim.
how many numbers
on the balance sheet.
how many forks,
knives,
spoons, plates.
glasses to drink from
do you need
on the shelf.
another bed? how many
lovers will it take
to say enough.
a bigger room.
a yard that stretches.
maybe an oak
tree,
a willow.
a cherry blossom
in bloom.
how many cars do you need
in the garage,
more books, more clothes
more things.
the drowning of ourselves
goes on.
in too much
we swim.
words
you say the wrong
thing
and it sticks to you.
thick gum
on your shoe
smacking
and pulling pink
against the hot street.
all day
you carry the fret of it.
you say the wrong
thing
and it can't be removed
easily.
no swallowing
of words.
no apology makes do.
thing
and it sticks to you.
thick gum
on your shoe
smacking
and pulling pink
against the hot street.
all day
you carry the fret of it.
you say the wrong
thing
and it can't be removed
easily.
no swallowing
of words.
no apology makes do.
words
you say the wrong
thing
and it sticks to you.
thick gum
on your shoe
smacking
and pulling pink
against the hot street.
all day
you carry the fret of it.
you say the wrong
thing
and it can't be removed
easily.
no swallowing
of words.
no apology makes do.
thing
and it sticks to you.
thick gum
on your shoe
smacking
and pulling pink
against the hot street.
all day
you carry the fret of it.
you say the wrong
thing
and it can't be removed
easily.
no swallowing
of words.
no apology makes do.
our own story
we have always lived
in fabled times.
we do now.
making our lives
more important
than they ever could be.
casting larger shadows
on what was small.
we edit lines, move
chairs and props
as we go along,
our play, our theater,
alive
with performance.
we smudge or wizen
the faces that we meet.
hear
the voices differently.
the arguments
have meaning. each love
won lost
was true.
we collect the evidence
in photos. in ticket
stubs,
soliloquies of remember
when this happened.
drink helps to rose color
the glass on all of it.
on our own fables being
told by us.
in fabled times.
we do now.
making our lives
more important
than they ever could be.
casting larger shadows
on what was small.
we edit lines, move
chairs and props
as we go along,
our play, our theater,
alive
with performance.
we smudge or wizen
the faces that we meet.
hear
the voices differently.
the arguments
have meaning. each love
won lost
was true.
we collect the evidence
in photos. in ticket
stubs,
soliloquies of remember
when this happened.
drink helps to rose color
the glass on all of it.
on our own fables being
told by us.
dancing in the light
the Pentecostal
meeting scared you.
the large circle of worshippers.
some speaking
in tongues,
some leaping forward
to make bold prophecies.
women with
burning blue eyes,
bibles held aloft,
aflame with the spirit.
people danced in the middle
as if in a trance.
it was in a hall,
a meeting room
at a college
you could never get into.
but here you were
joining hands
in dark loud prayer. afraid
of where this
might lead. afterwards
you wandered out questioning
everything you thought
you ever knew
about faith and God.
you went and had a beer,
sat with friends watching
women dancing in a different
light.
meeting scared you.
the large circle of worshippers.
some speaking
in tongues,
some leaping forward
to make bold prophecies.
women with
burning blue eyes,
bibles held aloft,
aflame with the spirit.
people danced in the middle
as if in a trance.
it was in a hall,
a meeting room
at a college
you could never get into.
but here you were
joining hands
in dark loud prayer. afraid
of where this
might lead. afterwards
you wandered out questioning
everything you thought
you ever knew
about faith and God.
you went and had a beer,
sat with friends watching
women dancing in a different
light.
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
unlike us
the dead
wake up in your dreams.
new
and refreshed
by distance.
they are removed from
pain,
from distress.
how easily they laugh
and love,
no longer
tethered to this earth
like us.
wake up in your dreams.
new
and refreshed
by distance.
they are removed from
pain,
from distress.
how easily they laugh
and love,
no longer
tethered to this earth
like us.
unlike us
the dead
wake up in your dreams.
new
and refreshed
by distance.
they are removed from
pain,
from distress.
how easily they laugh
and love,
no longer
tethered to this earth
like us.
wake up in your dreams.
new
and refreshed
by distance.
they are removed from
pain,
from distress.
how easily they laugh
and love,
no longer
tethered to this earth
like us.
the blue dress
you remember her
in a blue dress. waiting
for you.
the first time
you met.
nervous. hands folded
to keep
them still.
her rising
as you came near.
the gentle kiss on
a cheek.
hello.
how quickly the night
passed.
the words
tumbling. the wonder
of it all.
you remember her
in a blue dress.
waiting
for you and then
the rest.
in a blue dress. waiting
for you.
the first time
you met.
nervous. hands folded
to keep
them still.
her rising
as you came near.
the gentle kiss on
a cheek.
hello.
how quickly the night
passed.
the words
tumbling. the wonder
of it all.
you remember her
in a blue dress.
waiting
for you and then
the rest.
the blue dress
you remember her
in a blue dress. waiting
for you.
the first time
you met.
nervous. hands folded
to keep
them still.
her rising
as you came near.
the gentle kiss on
a cheek.
hello.
how quickly the night
passed.
the words
tumbling. the wonder
of it all.
you remember her
in a blue dress.
waiting
for you and then
the rest.
in a blue dress. waiting
for you.
the first time
you met.
nervous. hands folded
to keep
them still.
her rising
as you came near.
the gentle kiss on
a cheek.
hello.
how quickly the night
passed.
the words
tumbling. the wonder
of it all.
you remember her
in a blue dress.
waiting
for you and then
the rest.
the other side
it's the other side
we don't see.
the rails being laid.
the coal
pulled by hand
from mountains a million
years old.
it's
the farm worker, the paver
of roads.
the chimney sweep,
the roofer hammering
in the slant
of a summer sun.
it's the raking, the mowing.
the chopping of wood,
the men
with sacks
on their back, the women
on their knees
scrubbing.
frying.
lifting. arms deep
into ovens.
it's the other side
that we don't see,
don't want to see.
just leave it at that.
we don't see.
the rails being laid.
the coal
pulled by hand
from mountains a million
years old.
it's
the farm worker, the paver
of roads.
the chimney sweep,
the roofer hammering
in the slant
of a summer sun.
it's the raking, the mowing.
the chopping of wood,
the men
with sacks
on their back, the women
on their knees
scrubbing.
frying.
lifting. arms deep
into ovens.
it's the other side
that we don't see,
don't want to see.
just leave it at that.
you don't know for sure
it's hard to tell
which animal in the zoo
is crazy.
out of its mind while
locked behind bars,
they peel the bananas
so casually,
the look of love in their
brown eyes.
the zebra, unfazed
by a full moon,
lions just lying around,
pawing at a bone.
the seals
jumping for fish,
as if at play.
it's not unlike
riding the bus on
any afternoon.
who's gone and who isn't
is just too hard
to say.
which animal in the zoo
is crazy.
out of its mind while
locked behind bars,
they peel the bananas
so casually,
the look of love in their
brown eyes.
the zebra, unfazed
by a full moon,
lions just lying around,
pawing at a bone.
the seals
jumping for fish,
as if at play.
it's not unlike
riding the bus on
any afternoon.
who's gone and who isn't
is just too hard
to say.
white shoes
it's hard to keep
those white shoes clean.
having them shine
like new.
always
buffing out a mark
with a finger
lick,
a rub against
the back of a calf
on a pair
of gabardine pants.
white shoes
are a problem when
tying to be dapper
and distinct.
not to mention the belt
to match.
those white shoes clean.
having them shine
like new.
always
buffing out a mark
with a finger
lick,
a rub against
the back of a calf
on a pair
of gabardine pants.
white shoes
are a problem when
tying to be dapper
and distinct.
not to mention the belt
to match.
white shoes
it's hard to keep
those white shoes clean.
having them shine
like new.
always
buffing out a mark
with a finger
lick,
a rub against
the back of a calf
on a pair
of gabardine pants.
white shoes
are a problem when
tying to be dapper
and distinct.
not to mention the belt
to match.
those white shoes clean.
having them shine
like new.
always
buffing out a mark
with a finger
lick,
a rub against
the back of a calf
on a pair
of gabardine pants.
white shoes
are a problem when
tying to be dapper
and distinct.
not to mention the belt
to match.
save some for later
it's nice
to leave a small portion
for tomorrow
or tonight. a midnight
snack.
a surprise
for later when you've
forgotten
what you have. enjoying
the moment
when you see it tucked
away
in the corner,
taking it out,
grateful that you had.
to leave a small portion
for tomorrow
or tonight. a midnight
snack.
a surprise
for later when you've
forgotten
what you have. enjoying
the moment
when you see it tucked
away
in the corner,
taking it out,
grateful that you had.
save some for later
it's nice
to leave a small portion
for tomorrow
or tonight. a midnight
snack.
a surprise
for later when you've
forgotten
what you have. enjoying
the moment
when you see it tucked
away
in the corner,
taking it out,
grateful that you had.
to leave a small portion
for tomorrow
or tonight. a midnight
snack.
a surprise
for later when you've
forgotten
what you have. enjoying
the moment
when you see it tucked
away
in the corner,
taking it out,
grateful that you had.
what's fun
someone asks you
what you like to do for fun.
you have to think
for a minute
what that might be.
what brings you joy
and pleasure, what things
do you purposely
seek out to put a smile
on your face.
you don't like to hunt
or fish,
climb mountains.
you prefer not to leap
from a plane,
or run in races.
golf bores you, as does
most museums
after an hour or so.
the theater perhaps, or
listening to music,
not at a concert where everyone
knows the songs
and is singing.
for fun, it's a hard question
these days.
a nap is fun.
lying in the sun is fun.
conversation.
a good book.
kissing. making love is fun.
eating
can be fun too.
what you like to do for fun.
you have to think
for a minute
what that might be.
what brings you joy
and pleasure, what things
do you purposely
seek out to put a smile
on your face.
you don't like to hunt
or fish,
climb mountains.
you prefer not to leap
from a plane,
or run in races.
golf bores you, as does
most museums
after an hour or so.
the theater perhaps, or
listening to music,
not at a concert where everyone
knows the songs
and is singing.
for fun, it's a hard question
these days.
a nap is fun.
lying in the sun is fun.
conversation.
a good book.
kissing. making love is fun.
eating
can be fun too.
what's fun
someone asks you
what you like to do for fun.
you have to think
for a minute
what that might be.
what brings you joy
and pleasure, what things
do you purposely
seek out to put a smile
on your face.
you don't like to hunt
or fish,
climb mountains.
you prefer not to leap
from a plane,
or run in races.
golf bores you, as does
most museums
after an hour or so.
the theater perhaps, or
listening to music,
not at a concert where everyone
knows the songs
and is singing.
for fun, it's a hard question
these days.
a nap is fun.
lying in the sun is fun.
conversation.
a good book.
kissing. making love is fun.
eating
can be fun too.
what you like to do for fun.
you have to think
for a minute
what that might be.
what brings you joy
and pleasure, what things
do you purposely
seek out to put a smile
on your face.
you don't like to hunt
or fish,
climb mountains.
you prefer not to leap
from a plane,
or run in races.
golf bores you, as does
most museums
after an hour or so.
the theater perhaps, or
listening to music,
not at a concert where everyone
knows the songs
and is singing.
for fun, it's a hard question
these days.
a nap is fun.
lying in the sun is fun.
conversation.
a good book.
kissing. making love is fun.
eating
can be fun too.
the rules
the life guard
is insistent that you stay off
the rope
separating
the shallow from
the deep end.
stop running,
no diving
from the side.
no eating in the pool.
no alcohol or loud
music.
it's a poster
of rules
you can't wait
to break
for the rest
of your life, until
it's your child.
then the whistle
blows.
is insistent that you stay off
the rope
separating
the shallow from
the deep end.
stop running,
no diving
from the side.
no eating in the pool.
no alcohol or loud
music.
it's a poster
of rules
you can't wait
to break
for the rest
of your life, until
it's your child.
then the whistle
blows.
the rules
the life guard
is insistent that you stay off
the rope
separating
the shallow from
the deep end.
stop running,
no diving
from the side.
no eating in the pool.
no alcohol or loud
music.
it's a poster
of rules
you can't wait
to break
for the rest
of your life, until
it's your child.
then the whistle
blows.
is insistent that you stay off
the rope
separating
the shallow from
the deep end.
stop running,
no diving
from the side.
no eating in the pool.
no alcohol or loud
music.
it's a poster
of rules
you can't wait
to break
for the rest
of your life, until
it's your child.
then the whistle
blows.
in the pocket
it's nice
to find a dollar
in a coat
pocket. a stick of gum.
a box
of candy from
the theater. a program
folded.
torn tickets.
a note from you,
saying
see you soon.
love.
I miss you too.
to find a dollar
in a coat
pocket. a stick of gum.
a box
of candy from
the theater. a program
folded.
torn tickets.
a note from you,
saying
see you soon.
love.
I miss you too.
in the pocket
it's nice
to find a dollar
in a coat
pocket. a stick of gum.
a box
of candy from
the theater. a program
folded.
torn tickets.
a note from you,
saying
see you soon.
love.
I miss you too.
to find a dollar
in a coat
pocket. a stick of gum.
a box
of candy from
the theater. a program
folded.
torn tickets.
a note from you,
saying
see you soon.
love.
I miss you too.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
the april wind
what is it with these men.
they know women.
sisters mothers,
aunts, lovers
and friends, wives.
why can't they avert
their eyes.
not look at a pair
legs,
a blouse opened,
parted lips,
an ear, an elbow,
a hand, the curves
strolling by.
no one is exempt.
the waitress pouring coffee.
the maid
smoothing out a bed.
the bartender
sliding a drink
across the bar.
what keeps them on alert,
heads turning
at the click of heels.
the men whistling
as they stand in a ditch
with a shovel,
not having a chance.
what keeps them looking
as an april wind
lifts long hair and skirts.
the old boys
in the park,
pointing with their canes
as a woman fifty years
younger runs by.
it never ends.
they know women.
sisters mothers,
aunts, lovers
and friends, wives.
why can't they avert
their eyes.
not look at a pair
legs,
a blouse opened,
parted lips,
an ear, an elbow,
a hand, the curves
strolling by.
no one is exempt.
the waitress pouring coffee.
the maid
smoothing out a bed.
the bartender
sliding a drink
across the bar.
what keeps them on alert,
heads turning
at the click of heels.
the men whistling
as they stand in a ditch
with a shovel,
not having a chance.
what keeps them looking
as an april wind
lifts long hair and skirts.
the old boys
in the park,
pointing with their canes
as a woman fifty years
younger runs by.
it never ends.
the april wind
what is it with these men.
they know women.
sisters mothers,
aunts, lovers
and friends, wives.
why can't they avert
their eyes.
not look at a pair
legs,
a blouse opened,
parted lips,
an ear, an elbow,
a hand, the curves
strolling by.
no one is exempt.
the waitress pouring coffee.
the maid
smoothing out a bed.
the bartender
sliding a drink
across the bar.
what keeps them on alert,
heads turning
at the click of heels.
the men whistling
as they stand in a ditch
with a shovel,
not having a chance.
what keeps them looking
as an april wind
lifts long hair and skirts.
the old boys
in the park,
pointing with their canes
as a woman fifty years
younger runs by.
it never ends.
they know women.
sisters mothers,
aunts, lovers
and friends, wives.
why can't they avert
their eyes.
not look at a pair
legs,
a blouse opened,
parted lips,
an ear, an elbow,
a hand, the curves
strolling by.
no one is exempt.
the waitress pouring coffee.
the maid
smoothing out a bed.
the bartender
sliding a drink
across the bar.
what keeps them on alert,
heads turning
at the click of heels.
the men whistling
as they stand in a ditch
with a shovel,
not having a chance.
what keeps them looking
as an april wind
lifts long hair and skirts.
the old boys
in the park,
pointing with their canes
as a woman fifty years
younger runs by.
it never ends.
high rise
there's a bad smell
in the building.
someone is cooking cabbage.
maybe a goat.
who's to know.
there's a blood stain
on the carpet in the lobby.
I can hear the rattling
of snakes down the hall.
someone's chanting
to their God, or Gods
a floor below.
on the roof
is a contingent of women
singing
church songs
practicing for sunday.
the man across the hall
is having an argument
with his
wife on the phone,
or maybe she's there,
but i haven't heard any
plates or dishes
thrown.
I have to get out
of this building.
but the elevator
doesn't work
anymore, and the loading
dock is
scheduled for two
months in advance.
fourteen floors below
I see the workers dragging
the pool for
possums, getting ready
for summer.
in the building.
someone is cooking cabbage.
maybe a goat.
who's to know.
there's a blood stain
on the carpet in the lobby.
I can hear the rattling
of snakes down the hall.
someone's chanting
to their God, or Gods
a floor below.
on the roof
is a contingent of women
singing
church songs
practicing for sunday.
the man across the hall
is having an argument
with his
wife on the phone,
or maybe she's there,
but i haven't heard any
plates or dishes
thrown.
I have to get out
of this building.
but the elevator
doesn't work
anymore, and the loading
dock is
scheduled for two
months in advance.
fourteen floors below
I see the workers dragging
the pool for
possums, getting ready
for summer.
high rise
there's a bad smell
in the building.
someone is cooking cabbage.
maybe a goat.
who's to know.
there's a blood stain
on the carpet in the lobby.
I can hear the rattling
of snakes down the hall.
someone's chanting
to their God, or Gods
a floor below.
on the roof
is a contingent of women
singing
church songs
practicing for sunday.
the man across the hall
is having an argument
with his
wife on the phone,
or maybe she's there,
but i haven't heard any
plates or dishes
thrown.
I have to get out
of this building.
but the elevator
doesn't work
anymore, and the loading
dock is
scheduled for two
months in advance.
fourteen floors below
I see the workers dragging
the pool for
possums, getting ready
for summer.
in the building.
someone is cooking cabbage.
maybe a goat.
who's to know.
there's a blood stain
on the carpet in the lobby.
I can hear the rattling
of snakes down the hall.
someone's chanting
to their God, or Gods
a floor below.
on the roof
is a contingent of women
singing
church songs
practicing for sunday.
the man across the hall
is having an argument
with his
wife on the phone,
or maybe she's there,
but i haven't heard any
plates or dishes
thrown.
I have to get out
of this building.
but the elevator
doesn't work
anymore, and the loading
dock is
scheduled for two
months in advance.
fourteen floors below
I see the workers dragging
the pool for
possums, getting ready
for summer.
hide your eyes
no use
watching the market.
studying
the ups and downs of all
your holdings.
no point in calling your
broker
to discuss what to sell
or buy.
it's best just to
wear blinders,
say a prayer,
hide your eyes and hope
that in a few years
you aren't in a box
behind the liquor store.
watching the market.
studying
the ups and downs of all
your holdings.
no point in calling your
broker
to discuss what to sell
or buy.
it's best just to
wear blinders,
say a prayer,
hide your eyes and hope
that in a few years
you aren't in a box
behind the liquor store.
hide your eyes
no use
watching the market.
studying
the ups and downs of all
your holdings.
no point in calling your
broker
to discuss what to sell
or buy.
it's best just to
wear blinders,
say a prayer,
hide your eyes and hope
that in a few years
you aren't in a box
behind the liquor store.
watching the market.
studying
the ups and downs of all
your holdings.
no point in calling your
broker
to discuss what to sell
or buy.
it's best just to
wear blinders,
say a prayer,
hide your eyes and hope
that in a few years
you aren't in a box
behind the liquor store.
new shoes
the blister on your heel
makes you regret
wearing the new shoes
when you knew
you had to walk so far.
it'll take a week to heal.
not nearly as bad
as a broken heart,
but still the pain
will linger.
it might be a while
before you wear those
shoes again.
makes you regret
wearing the new shoes
when you knew
you had to walk so far.
it'll take a week to heal.
not nearly as bad
as a broken heart,
but still the pain
will linger.
it might be a while
before you wear those
shoes again.
new shoes
the blister on your heel
makes you regret
wearing the new shoes
when you knew
you had to walk so far.
it'll take a week to heal.
not nearly as bad
as a broken heart,
but still the pain
will linger.
it might be a while
before you wear those
shoes again.
makes you regret
wearing the new shoes
when you knew
you had to walk so far.
it'll take a week to heal.
not nearly as bad
as a broken heart,
but still the pain
will linger.
it might be a while
before you wear those
shoes again.
Monday, March 28, 2016
naked to the world
it wasn't unusual
when staying in a hotel
for her to take her clothes off
and go stand
by a window.
she'd pull
the curtains back
and stretch her arms out
to the world
as if a new born.
what was there to say.
she was a grown woman,
who did what she wanted to do.
but there seemed to be
more to it
than you could even imagine.
when staying in a hotel
for her to take her clothes off
and go stand
by a window.
she'd pull
the curtains back
and stretch her arms out
to the world
as if a new born.
what was there to say.
she was a grown woman,
who did what she wanted to do.
but there seemed to be
more to it
than you could even imagine.
naked to the world
it wasn't unusual
when staying in a hotel
for her to take her clothes off
and go stand
by a window.
she'd pull
the curtains back
and stretch her arms out
to the world
as if a new born.
what was there to say.
she was a grown woman,
who did what she wanted to do.
but there seemed to be
more to it
than you could even imagine.
when staying in a hotel
for her to take her clothes off
and go stand
by a window.
she'd pull
the curtains back
and stretch her arms out
to the world
as if a new born.
what was there to say.
she was a grown woman,
who did what she wanted to do.
but there seemed to be
more to it
than you could even imagine.
bad blood
there is bad blood
between
the two of you.
it will stay this way
forever.
there is nothing that will
change what is
true,
or unsay the things
that have
been said.
it doesn't happen
overnight,
but years, more years,
until
you break. you break
and tell
the other person
what isn't right.
bad blood is not a good
thing
to have coursing
through your veins, but
what is there to do?
between
the two of you.
it will stay this way
forever.
there is nothing that will
change what is
true,
or unsay the things
that have
been said.
it doesn't happen
overnight,
but years, more years,
until
you break. you break
and tell
the other person
what isn't right.
bad blood is not a good
thing
to have coursing
through your veins, but
what is there to do?
bad blood
there is bad blood
between
the two of you.
it will stay this way
forever.
there is nothing that will
change what is
true,
or unsay the things
that have
been said.
it doesn't happen
overnight,
but years, more years,
until
you break. you break
and tell
the other person
what isn't right.
bad blood is not a good
thing
to have coursing
through your veins, but
what is there to do?
between
the two of you.
it will stay this way
forever.
there is nothing that will
change what is
true,
or unsay the things
that have
been said.
it doesn't happen
overnight,
but years, more years,
until
you break. you break
and tell
the other person
what isn't right.
bad blood is not a good
thing
to have coursing
through your veins, but
what is there to do?
the shop
business as usual,
the man turns the open sign
over, unlocks
the door.
goes behind the counter
and begins
his day.
his hands in dough,
salt
and sauce.
cutting what goes on.
in time
he carries the weight
of his
passing years,
a son comes
along, another.
their lives set too.
what else is there
to know.
each turning the sign over
to open.
the man turns the open sign
over, unlocks
the door.
goes behind the counter
and begins
his day.
his hands in dough,
salt
and sauce.
cutting what goes on.
in time
he carries the weight
of his
passing years,
a son comes
along, another.
their lives set too.
what else is there
to know.
each turning the sign over
to open.
the shop
business as usual,
the man turns the open sign
over, unlocks
the door.
goes behind the counter
and begins
his day.
his hands in dough,
salt
and sauce.
cutting what goes on.
in time
he carries the weight
of his
passing years,
a son comes
along, another.
their lives set too.
what else is there
to know.
each turning the sign over
to open.
the man turns the open sign
over, unlocks
the door.
goes behind the counter
and begins
his day.
his hands in dough,
salt
and sauce.
cutting what goes on.
in time
he carries the weight
of his
passing years,
a son comes
along, another.
their lives set too.
what else is there
to know.
each turning the sign over
to open.
the trick
there is the pull
of hook
and line
from shores unseen
that drags
you where they want
you to be.
it starts early
as the sun comes up.
the bait
is set.
how could you know
that the game
is rigged. that
life as you know it
is a trick.
a glimmer
of steel, a plastic
fly,
a worm, no less
that does you in.
of hook
and line
from shores unseen
that drags
you where they want
you to be.
it starts early
as the sun comes up.
the bait
is set.
how could you know
that the game
is rigged. that
life as you know it
is a trick.
a glimmer
of steel, a plastic
fly,
a worm, no less
that does you in.
the trick
there is the pull
of hook
and line
from shores unseen
that drags
you where they want
you to be.
it starts early
as the sun comes up.
the bait
is set.
how could you know
that the game
is rigged. that
life as you know it
is a trick.
a glimmer
of steel, a plastic
fly,
a worm, no less
that does you in.
of hook
and line
from shores unseen
that drags
you where they want
you to be.
it starts early
as the sun comes up.
the bait
is set.
how could you know
that the game
is rigged. that
life as you know it
is a trick.
a glimmer
of steel, a plastic
fly,
a worm, no less
that does you in.
unburdened
unburdened
by life, your mother's face
grows younger.
the furrows of her brow
lessened
with each short visit.
no husband
or child
to worry her. her mind
now soft
like the black soil
she once dug
in her garden.
roses are coming up.
daffodils
lilies. how green the grass
has become.
she smiles about something.
laughs,
then cries when
a true thought comes
forward, but it's
quickly
washed away in shadow.
by life, your mother's face
grows younger.
the furrows of her brow
lessened
with each short visit.
no husband
or child
to worry her. her mind
now soft
like the black soil
she once dug
in her garden.
roses are coming up.
daffodils
lilies. how green the grass
has become.
she smiles about something.
laughs,
then cries when
a true thought comes
forward, but it's
quickly
washed away in shadow.
the tickets
the line
at the machine is long.
white haired men,
blue haired women with
cash in hand.
one by one they stick
their bills
into the slots, push
the red buttons
with a prayer,
and fingers crossed,
four across, three across.
lucky shamrocks.
bells and whistles.
outside they stand,
huddled alone
in the wind
and scratch their stubs.
the grey chips
float away in the air.
forty dollars a day,
why not, they think.
one says loudly, bingo,
as the others
turn to walk away.
at the machine is long.
white haired men,
blue haired women with
cash in hand.
one by one they stick
their bills
into the slots, push
the red buttons
with a prayer,
and fingers crossed,
four across, three across.
lucky shamrocks.
bells and whistles.
outside they stand,
huddled alone
in the wind
and scratch their stubs.
the grey chips
float away in the air.
forty dollars a day,
why not, they think.
one says loudly, bingo,
as the others
turn to walk away.
the tickets
the line
at the machine is long.
white haired men,
blue haired women with
cash in hand.
one by one they stick
their bills
into the slots, push
the red buttons
with a prayer,
and fingers crossed,
four across, three across.
lucky shamrocks.
bells and whistles.
outside they stand,
huddled alone
in the wind
and scratch their stubs.
the grey chips
float away in the air.
forty dollars a day,
why not, they think.
one says loudly, bingo,
as the others
turn to walk away.
at the machine is long.
white haired men,
blue haired women with
cash in hand.
one by one they stick
their bills
into the slots, push
the red buttons
with a prayer,
and fingers crossed,
four across, three across.
lucky shamrocks.
bells and whistles.
outside they stand,
huddled alone
in the wind
and scratch their stubs.
the grey chips
float away in the air.
forty dollars a day,
why not, they think.
one says loudly, bingo,
as the others
turn to walk away.
I love him,
but he's crazy, she says,
showing me the bruise
on her wrist
where he grabbed her
too hard.
he gets angry
all the time
and throws things.
he can't keep a job.
he has no friends
and he treats me
horribly, but i'm so
in love with him.
I know that deep inside
he's a very sweet man.
what should I do.
he wants to marry me.
if I say yes,
I think I can change him
over time.
what do you think,
should I go for it?
but he's crazy, she says,
showing me the bruise
on her wrist
where he grabbed her
too hard.
he gets angry
all the time
and throws things.
he can't keep a job.
he has no friends
and he treats me
horribly, but i'm so
in love with him.
I know that deep inside
he's a very sweet man.
what should I do.
he wants to marry me.
if I say yes,
I think I can change him
over time.
what do you think,
should I go for it?
I love him,
but he's crazy, she says,
showing me the bruise
on her wrist
where he grabbed her
too hard.
he gets angry
all the time
and throws things.
he can't keep a job.
he has no friends
and he treats me
horribly, but i'm so
in love with him.
I know that deep inside
he's a very sweet man.
what should I do.
he wants to marry me.
if I say yes,
I think I can change him
over time.
what do you think,
should I go for it?
but he's crazy, she says,
showing me the bruise
on her wrist
where he grabbed her
too hard.
he gets angry
all the time
and throws things.
he can't keep a job.
he has no friends
and he treats me
horribly, but i'm so
in love with him.
I know that deep inside
he's a very sweet man.
what should I do.
he wants to marry me.
if I say yes,
I think I can change him
over time.
what do you think,
should I go for it?
five nights in cancun
despite four days of rain
you both made
the most of it.
eating.
staring out into the sea
from your hotel
window.
jiggling an antennae
on an old tv.
playing gin rummy.
making love.
making love.
making love.
then sleep.
the wind bent the trees
sideways.
so there was drinking involved.
dancing,
room service. talking about
our childhoods.
more drinking.
aspirin.
there was falling
asleep on the cold
tiled
floor of the bathroom.
tipping
the maid for all
that missed
its target. on
the fifth day the sun
came out. no one cared
anymore.
you both made
the most of it.
eating.
staring out into the sea
from your hotel
window.
jiggling an antennae
on an old tv.
playing gin rummy.
making love.
making love.
making love.
then sleep.
the wind bent the trees
sideways.
so there was drinking involved.
dancing,
room service. talking about
our childhoods.
more drinking.
aspirin.
there was falling
asleep on the cold
tiled
floor of the bathroom.
tipping
the maid for all
that missed
its target. on
the fifth day the sun
came out. no one cared
anymore.
open books
the open
book, left to the page
last touched
and turned to.
the words
left to be found later
in mid thought
or sentence.
we leave
friends like that
as well.
the open books
of our lives, easy
to read,
waiting for your return,
to be
found and enjoyed
once more.
book, left to the page
last touched
and turned to.
the words
left to be found later
in mid thought
or sentence.
we leave
friends like that
as well.
the open books
of our lives, easy
to read,
waiting for your return,
to be
found and enjoyed
once more.
open books
the open
book, left to the page
last touched
and turned to.
the words
left to be found later
in mid thought
or sentence.
we leave
friends like that
as well.
the open books
of our lives, easy
to read,
waiting for your return,
to be
found and enjoyed
once more.
book, left to the page
last touched
and turned to.
the words
left to be found later
in mid thought
or sentence.
we leave
friends like that
as well.
the open books
of our lives, easy
to read,
waiting for your return,
to be
found and enjoyed
once more.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
what's for dinner?
how many countries
can you name?
I don't want to
play this game.
come on, it'll be fun.
I want to prove
once and for all that
i'm smarter than you.
that women in general
are more intelligent than
men give them credit for.
I surrender,
you are smarter. all of
you are smarter.
we be dumb.
i'm waving
the white flag.
no, let' play.the game.
don't be a grump.
i'll go first.
we'll start with the A's.
here we go.
Africa.
that's a continent,
not a country.
I win. game over.
what's for dinner?
can you name?
I don't want to
play this game.
come on, it'll be fun.
I want to prove
once and for all that
i'm smarter than you.
that women in general
are more intelligent than
men give them credit for.
I surrender,
you are smarter. all of
you are smarter.
we be dumb.
i'm waving
the white flag.
no, let' play.the game.
don't be a grump.
i'll go first.
we'll start with the A's.
here we go.
Africa.
that's a continent,
not a country.
I win. game over.
what's for dinner?
what's for dinner?
how many countries
can you name?
I don't want to
play this game.
come on, it'll be fun.
I want to prove
once and for all that
i'm smarter than you.
that women in general
are more intelligent than
men give them credit for.
I surrender,
you are smarter. all of
you are smarter.
we be dumb.
i'm waving
the white flag.
no, let' play.the game.
don't be a grump.
i'll go first.
we'll start with the A's.
here we go.
Africa.
that's a continent,
not a country.
I win. game over.
what's for dinner?
can you name?
I don't want to
play this game.
come on, it'll be fun.
I want to prove
once and for all that
i'm smarter than you.
that women in general
are more intelligent than
men give them credit for.
I surrender,
you are smarter. all of
you are smarter.
we be dumb.
i'm waving
the white flag.
no, let' play.the game.
don't be a grump.
i'll go first.
we'll start with the A's.
here we go.
Africa.
that's a continent,
not a country.
I win. game over.
what's for dinner?
the light is on
the light goes
on
at a certain age.
the proverbial light.
the candle, the flame
of knowledge, call it
wisdom, even.
whether it's neon
or incandescent
laser or fluorescent
makes no difference.
it goes on
and shines brightly
before your eyes.
you realize that the future
is not what it
used to be.
on
at a certain age.
the proverbial light.
the candle, the flame
of knowledge, call it
wisdom, even.
whether it's neon
or incandescent
laser or fluorescent
makes no difference.
it goes on
and shines brightly
before your eyes.
you realize that the future
is not what it
used to be.
the unlearning
you unlearn the world
with age.
with each passing year
you see clearer
how muddied the water
really is. you
understand less
the mysteries you thought
were figured out.
by deaths end
you know
what there is to learn
about everything,
which is that you know
almost nothing,
but that.
with age.
with each passing year
you see clearer
how muddied the water
really is. you
understand less
the mysteries you thought
were figured out.
by deaths end
you know
what there is to learn
about everything,
which is that you know
almost nothing,
but that.
the unlearning
you unlearn the world
with age.
with each passing year
you see clearer
how muddied the water
really is. you
understand less
the mysteries you thought
were figured out.
by deaths end
you know
what there is to learn
about everything,
which is that you know
almost nothing,
but that.
with age.
with each passing year
you see clearer
how muddied the water
really is. you
understand less
the mysteries you thought
were figured out.
by deaths end
you know
what there is to learn
about everything,
which is that you know
almost nothing,
but that.
as they float away
you see small children,
almost grown
with their arms stretched
in the air,
tethered to balloons,
strings held
tightly in their fists.
they rise into the sky
against the blue.
caught in the winds that
always come.
they are becoming what
they will become.
floating softly
away with dreams of
their own.
almost grown
with their arms stretched
in the air,
tethered to balloons,
strings held
tightly in their fists.
they rise into the sky
against the blue.
caught in the winds that
always come.
they are becoming what
they will become.
floating softly
away with dreams of
their own.
as they float away
you see small children,
almost grown
with their arms stretched
in the air,
tethered to balloons,
strings held
tightly in their fists.
they rise into the sky
against the blue.
caught in the winds that
always come.
they are becoming what
they will become.
floating softly
away with dreams of
their own.
almost grown
with their arms stretched
in the air,
tethered to balloons,
strings held
tightly in their fists.
they rise into the sky
against the blue.
caught in the winds that
always come.
they are becoming what
they will become.
floating softly
away with dreams of
their own.
the ejection seat
i like to be spoiled
the queen bee tells me as
she brushes her
hair in the rear view mirror
turned by her hand
to accommodate the location
her face.
do you mind, i tell her.
i'm driving and really need
that mirror.
i think i have spinach
in my teeth she says. look.
do you see any. no.
i tell her, pushing the mirror
back into place.
where was i, she says.
oh yes. i like to be spoiled,
i like nice things, i like to
travel and stay in resorts.
are you able to do
these things with me?
i hope so, she says, smiling,
rummaging through her tiny
purse to find lipstick.
at this point i wish i had
a james bond car, the kind
with an ejection button
for the passenger seat,
but i don't. so i say yes.
who doesn't love caviar
and palm springs, paris,
i say. the baguettes are
wonderful over there. i'd die
just to sit in a café
right now and order sparkling
water.
i'm falling for you, she says.
let's go. let's go to paris,
just me and you. tonight.
it would be fun and spontaneous.
what about my cat? i tell
her. i'd have to make
arrangements for my cat.
how about next weekend?
the queen bee tells me as
she brushes her
hair in the rear view mirror
turned by her hand
to accommodate the location
her face.
do you mind, i tell her.
i'm driving and really need
that mirror.
i think i have spinach
in my teeth she says. look.
do you see any. no.
i tell her, pushing the mirror
back into place.
where was i, she says.
oh yes. i like to be spoiled,
i like nice things, i like to
travel and stay in resorts.
are you able to do
these things with me?
i hope so, she says, smiling,
rummaging through her tiny
purse to find lipstick.
at this point i wish i had
a james bond car, the kind
with an ejection button
for the passenger seat,
but i don't. so i say yes.
who doesn't love caviar
and palm springs, paris,
i say. the baguettes are
wonderful over there. i'd die
just to sit in a café
right now and order sparkling
water.
i'm falling for you, she says.
let's go. let's go to paris,
just me and you. tonight.
it would be fun and spontaneous.
what about my cat? i tell
her. i'd have to make
arrangements for my cat.
how about next weekend?
keep driving
she was an unregistered nurse
living in sin
on the other side of the tracks
with a man
twice her age, but there was
something kind about her that
appealed to me.
the way she walked on those legs
didn't hurt either.
she also worked the night shift
at the local diner,
pouring coffee, putting plates
of eggs and bacon on the table
for truckers and men who
couldn't sleep at night,
like me.
so what's your story, she said
one night, as the place emptied
and it was just me and her,
the cook in the kitchen
scrapping the grill
before closing. I've got no
story, I told her.
today is the first day of the
rest of my life.
having never said anything quite
that dumb, we both laughed
at the same time. don't leave
she said and walked away,
taking her apron off slowly
looking back, winking.
when she came back
she asked me for a ride home.
i need to count my tips
and refill the ketchup bottles,
she said,
then i'm ready.
I said okay. i'll be outside
in my car. the white chevy,
baby moons, dice hanging on
the rearview mirror.
really? she said, climbing into
my grey prius.
we didn't get very far,
the first red light,
when she reached over and kissed
me. putting her hand on my knee.
I could use a man like you in my life,
she said. someone who doesn't
talk too much. someone
I don't know anything about.
but i'm just passing
through, I told her and it would
only be one night. perfect she said.
I know a place.
keep driving.
living in sin
on the other side of the tracks
with a man
twice her age, but there was
something kind about her that
appealed to me.
the way she walked on those legs
didn't hurt either.
she also worked the night shift
at the local diner,
pouring coffee, putting plates
of eggs and bacon on the table
for truckers and men who
couldn't sleep at night,
like me.
so what's your story, she said
one night, as the place emptied
and it was just me and her,
the cook in the kitchen
scrapping the grill
before closing. I've got no
story, I told her.
today is the first day of the
rest of my life.
having never said anything quite
that dumb, we both laughed
at the same time. don't leave
she said and walked away,
taking her apron off slowly
looking back, winking.
when she came back
she asked me for a ride home.
i need to count my tips
and refill the ketchup bottles,
she said,
then i'm ready.
I said okay. i'll be outside
in my car. the white chevy,
baby moons, dice hanging on
the rearview mirror.
really? she said, climbing into
my grey prius.
we didn't get very far,
the first red light,
when she reached over and kissed
me. putting her hand on my knee.
I could use a man like you in my life,
she said. someone who doesn't
talk too much. someone
I don't know anything about.
but i'm just passing
through, I told her and it would
only be one night. perfect she said.
I know a place.
keep driving.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
equally yoked
you need to find
someone you are equally yoked
with, the pastor says to you
in a private consultation
in his chambers, which is the pantry
off the kitchen
of his church. outside is a sign
that reads in bright red letters,
open for prayer.
pancakes every morning at 7.
you say the words equally
yoked out loud.
he nods.
you think of cows, of cattle,
oxen. is there a difference
between them,
one is slow and dumb,
the other a little faster,
maybe smarter when it comes
to finding the best
grass to chew on.
yes, the pastor says, putting
his hand on your shoulder
in a gesture of comfort and
compassion. equally yoked,
he says again, think about it.
I have to go now. I have
pancakes to make.
someone you are equally yoked
with, the pastor says to you
in a private consultation
in his chambers, which is the pantry
off the kitchen
of his church. outside is a sign
that reads in bright red letters,
open for prayer.
pancakes every morning at 7.
you say the words equally
yoked out loud.
he nods.
you think of cows, of cattle,
oxen. is there a difference
between them,
one is slow and dumb,
the other a little faster,
maybe smarter when it comes
to finding the best
grass to chew on.
yes, the pastor says, putting
his hand on your shoulder
in a gesture of comfort and
compassion. equally yoked,
he says again, think about it.
I have to go now. I have
pancakes to make.
equally yoked
you need to find
someone you are equally yoked
with, the pastor says to you
in a private consultation
in his chambers, which is the pantry
off the kitchen
of his church. outside is a sign
that reads in bright red letters,
open for prayer.
pancakes every morning at 7.
you say the words equally
yoked out loud.
he nods.
you think of cows, of cattle,
oxen. is there a difference
between them,
one is slow and dumb,
the other a little faster,
maybe smarter when it comes
to finding the best
grass to chew on.
yes, the pastor says, putting
his hand on your shoulder
in a gesture of comfort and
compassion. equally yoked,
he says again, think about it.
I have to go now. I have
pancakes to make.
someone you are equally yoked
with, the pastor says to you
in a private consultation
in his chambers, which is the pantry
off the kitchen
of his church. outside is a sign
that reads in bright red letters,
open for prayer.
pancakes every morning at 7.
you say the words equally
yoked out loud.
he nods.
you think of cows, of cattle,
oxen. is there a difference
between them,
one is slow and dumb,
the other a little faster,
maybe smarter when it comes
to finding the best
grass to chew on.
yes, the pastor says, putting
his hand on your shoulder
in a gesture of comfort and
compassion. equally yoked,
he says again, think about it.
I have to go now. I have
pancakes to make.
art versus hunger
each of her easter eggs
is a gem.
small curved
versions of the Sistine
chapel.
the last supper,
the mona lisa
Raphael and Da Vinci
have nothing
on her.
you almost hate to crack
one open
against the sink,
but in your other
hand is salt.
and what is art
when
held up against hunger.
is a gem.
small curved
versions of the Sistine
chapel.
the last supper,
the mona lisa
Raphael and Da Vinci
have nothing
on her.
you almost hate to crack
one open
against the sink,
but in your other
hand is salt.
and what is art
when
held up against hunger.
art versus hunger
each of her easter eggs
is a gem.
small curved
versions of the Sistine
chapel.
the last supper,
the mona lisa
Raphael and Da Vinci
have nothing
on her.
you almost hate to crack
one open
against the sink,
but in your other
hand is salt.
and what is art
when
held up against hunger.
is a gem.
small curved
versions of the Sistine
chapel.
the last supper,
the mona lisa
Raphael and Da Vinci
have nothing
on her.
you almost hate to crack
one open
against the sink,
but in your other
hand is salt.
and what is art
when
held up against hunger.
i do
the noose,
the plank, the firing
squad.
it's not hard
to find
an equal comparison
to
standing at the altar
and saying,
I do.
the guillotine
comes to mind
as well, not to mention
a pool of quicksand.
it looked so easy going
in,
but now I'm sinking
slowly
with no way out.
the plank, the firing
squad.
it's not hard
to find
an equal comparison
to
standing at the altar
and saying,
I do.
the guillotine
comes to mind
as well, not to mention
a pool of quicksand.
it looked so easy going
in,
but now I'm sinking
slowly
with no way out.
i do
the noose,
the plank, the firing
squad.
it's not hard
to find
an equal comparison
to
standing at the altar
and saying,
I do.
the guillotine
comes to mind
as well, not to mention
a pool of quicksand.
it looked so easy going
in,
but now I'm sinking
slowly
with no way out.
the plank, the firing
squad.
it's not hard
to find
an equal comparison
to
standing at the altar
and saying,
I do.
the guillotine
comes to mind
as well, not to mention
a pool of quicksand.
it looked so easy going
in,
but now I'm sinking
slowly
with no way out.
needing help
the small boy
runs as fast as his narrow legs
will go
trying to get the kite
into the air.
he sees the other kites
up high.
red and yellow,
white tails waving against
the clouds.
he wants so hard
to get his there.
but the hill is high,
the wind
isn't right.
his arms too small to make
it rise.
he stops
finally and looks around
wondering where his
father is.
runs as fast as his narrow legs
will go
trying to get the kite
into the air.
he sees the other kites
up high.
red and yellow,
white tails waving against
the clouds.
he wants so hard
to get his there.
but the hill is high,
the wind
isn't right.
his arms too small to make
it rise.
he stops
finally and looks around
wondering where his
father is.
needing help
the small boy
runs as fast as his narrow legs
will go
trying to get the kite
into the air.
he sees the other kites
up high.
red and yellow,
white tails waving against
the clouds.
he wants so hard
to get his there.
but the hill is high,
the wind
isn't right.
his arms too small to make
it rise.
he stops
finally and looks around
wondering where his
father is.
runs as fast as his narrow legs
will go
trying to get the kite
into the air.
he sees the other kites
up high.
red and yellow,
white tails waving against
the clouds.
he wants so hard
to get his there.
but the hill is high,
the wind
isn't right.
his arms too small to make
it rise.
he stops
finally and looks around
wondering where his
father is.
the middle years
the middle
is a place to be.
the beginning
or end
much less preferred.
the middle is fat with
waiting.
with a sense
of this will
never end.
there is a lawn chair in
the middle. summer days.
children
and dogs.
a house, work.
the middle puts
you to sleep thinking
this is how it will be
forever.
no longer hungry
as in the beginning, not
yet full
of sweet melancholy
at the end.
the middle is a bed of roses.
a cut lawn,
a night of gathering
in front
of a t.v.
is a place to be.
the beginning
or end
much less preferred.
the middle is fat with
waiting.
with a sense
of this will
never end.
there is a lawn chair in
the middle. summer days.
children
and dogs.
a house, work.
the middle puts
you to sleep thinking
this is how it will be
forever.
no longer hungry
as in the beginning, not
yet full
of sweet melancholy
at the end.
the middle is a bed of roses.
a cut lawn,
a night of gathering
in front
of a t.v.
the middle years
the middle
is a place to be.
the beginning
or end
much less preferred.
the middle is fat with
waiting.
with a sense
of this will
never end.
there is a lawn chair in
the middle. summer days.
children
and dogs.
a house, work.
the middle puts
you to sleep thinking
this is how it will be
forever.
no longer hungry
as in the beginning, not
yet full
of sweet melancholy
at the end.
the middle is a bed of roses.
a cut lawn,
a night of gathering
in front
of a t.v.
is a place to be.
the beginning
or end
much less preferred.
the middle is fat with
waiting.
with a sense
of this will
never end.
there is a lawn chair in
the middle. summer days.
children
and dogs.
a house, work.
the middle puts
you to sleep thinking
this is how it will be
forever.
no longer hungry
as in the beginning, not
yet full
of sweet melancholy
at the end.
the middle is a bed of roses.
a cut lawn,
a night of gathering
in front
of a t.v.
the morning poem
she wakes up with a poem
in her mouth,
a small pebble of truth
that she must
quickly spit out.
she hurries out of bed
to get it down.
you hear her in the other
room at the keyboard,
typing.
clicking out the letters
to form the words,
the lines
that she will later
read to you
and at some point have
memorized. you will
tell her how wonderful
it is.
how talented and kind
she is with words.
then you'll make love,
both happy with
what's been done.
in her mouth,
a small pebble of truth
that she must
quickly spit out.
she hurries out of bed
to get it down.
you hear her in the other
room at the keyboard,
typing.
clicking out the letters
to form the words,
the lines
that she will later
read to you
and at some point have
memorized. you will
tell her how wonderful
it is.
how talented and kind
she is with words.
then you'll make love,
both happy with
what's been done.
throwing the bone
it was nothing
to throw a dog a bone
into the yard,
still greased from the pan,
warm,
almost clean of meat,
but enough to
send them flying.
all afternoon the dog,
or dogs
would work the bone,
chewing it down
to nearly nothing,
grinding with wild eyes,
sharp teeth.
remembering who they were
not
collared pets,
trained animals,
but still beasts.
to throw a dog a bone
into the yard,
still greased from the pan,
warm,
almost clean of meat,
but enough to
send them flying.
all afternoon the dog,
or dogs
would work the bone,
chewing it down
to nearly nothing,
grinding with wild eyes,
sharp teeth.
remembering who they were
not
collared pets,
trained animals,
but still beasts.
throwing the bone
it was nothing
to throw a dog a bone
into the yard,
still greased from the pan,
warm,
almost clean of meat,
but enough to
send them flying.
all afternoon the dog,
or dogs
would work the bone,
chewing it down
to nearly nothing,
grinding with wild eyes,
sharp teeth.
remembering who they were
not
collared pets,
trained animals,
but still beasts.
to throw a dog a bone
into the yard,
still greased from the pan,
warm,
almost clean of meat,
but enough to
send them flying.
all afternoon the dog,
or dogs
would work the bone,
chewing it down
to nearly nothing,
grinding with wild eyes,
sharp teeth.
remembering who they were
not
collared pets,
trained animals,
but still beasts.
not enough
you bring
everything you have
to the game,
but sometimes
it's not enough.
what isn't meant to be
wins out.
a younger person
would sulk
with this news
soaking in, try
harder to make it work,
but not you.
you understand
and turn
to go back down
the open road
again.
everything you have
to the game,
but sometimes
it's not enough.
what isn't meant to be
wins out.
a younger person
would sulk
with this news
soaking in, try
harder to make it work,
but not you.
you understand
and turn
to go back down
the open road
again.
not enough
you bring
everything you have
to the game,
but sometimes
it's not enough.
what isn't meant to be
wins out.
a younger person
would sulk
with this news
soaking in, try
harder to make it work,
but not you.
you understand
and turn
to go back down
the open road
again.
everything you have
to the game,
but sometimes
it's not enough.
what isn't meant to be
wins out.
a younger person
would sulk
with this news
soaking in, try
harder to make it work,
but not you.
you understand
and turn
to go back down
the open road
again.
Friday, March 25, 2016
jagged stars of light
when touching
the wet outlet with your
careless hand
the electricity
runs through your arm,
your heart, into
the other arm,
then settles into your mouth
with the dull
taste of metal chips.
the jagged
stars of unseen light,
rattles you, stings,
tells you things about
death and life,
you'd rather not know.
the wet outlet with your
careless hand
the electricity
runs through your arm,
your heart, into
the other arm,
then settles into your mouth
with the dull
taste of metal chips.
the jagged
stars of unseen light,
rattles you, stings,
tells you things about
death and life,
you'd rather not know.
jagged stars of light
when touching
the wet outlet with your
careless hand
the electricity
runs through your arm,
your heart, into
the other arm,
then settles into your mouth
with the dull
taste of metal chips.
the jagged
stars of unseen light,
rattles you, stings,
tells you things about
death and life,
you'd rather not know.
the wet outlet with your
careless hand
the electricity
runs through your arm,
your heart, into
the other arm,
then settles into your mouth
with the dull
taste of metal chips.
the jagged
stars of unseen light,
rattles you, stings,
tells you things about
death and life,
you'd rather not know.
buying happiness
they say
that money cannot buy
happiness,
but I tend to disagree,
just last week
I purchased
a long stick of wood,
with a claw hand.
on any given night,
I reach over and down
my back
to find the spot
I can't other wise reach,
and scratch
a persistent itch.
I am as close
to being in heaven
as I may ever get.
that money cannot buy
happiness,
but I tend to disagree,
just last week
I purchased
a long stick of wood,
with a claw hand.
on any given night,
I reach over and down
my back
to find the spot
I can't other wise reach,
and scratch
a persistent itch.
I am as close
to being in heaven
as I may ever get.
buying happiness
they say
that money cannot buy
happiness,
but I tend to disagree,
just last week
I purchased
a long stick of wood,
with a claw hand.
on any given night,
I reach over and down
my back
to find the spot
I can't other wise reach,
and scratch
a persistent itch.
I am as close
to being in heaven
as I may ever get.
that money cannot buy
happiness,
but I tend to disagree,
just last week
I purchased
a long stick of wood,
with a claw hand.
on any given night,
I reach over and down
my back
to find the spot
I can't other wise reach,
and scratch
a persistent itch.
I am as close
to being in heaven
as I may ever get.
that part done
from the top of the stairs
I could hear
the women talking, my wife's
friends, having an early
afternoon cheese and wine
party, after all it was Friday.
and me home from work early,
showering, resting finally
in bed, the door cracked open.
I listened as their voices
got louder, the pitch
higher, seagull against seagull
fighting for the same
spot of sand. how they skewered
their husbands, laughing as one
said she used an egg timer
to time their romantic interludes.
the others laughed, and talked
of the dirty clothes they would
wear, no make up,
how they would not shave their
legs, to keep their husbands
at bay. the migraines they would
have. meanwhile the children
played in the yard.
that part of love being done.
I could hear
the women talking, my wife's
friends, having an early
afternoon cheese and wine
party, after all it was Friday.
and me home from work early,
showering, resting finally
in bed, the door cracked open.
I listened as their voices
got louder, the pitch
higher, seagull against seagull
fighting for the same
spot of sand. how they skewered
their husbands, laughing as one
said she used an egg timer
to time their romantic interludes.
the others laughed, and talked
of the dirty clothes they would
wear, no make up,
how they would not shave their
legs, to keep their husbands
at bay. the migraines they would
have. meanwhile the children
played in the yard.
that part of love being done.
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