What of the Life You Supposed?

The moon comes up to remind
you of timeless journeys
giant leaps, promises of more
a screen door in Albuquerque
the motel porch in Kingman
shadows, endless voices
picnics on mountains with no names
But the road doesn’t always smooth out
no matter the shocks on the limo
the view, the catch of the day
Sometimes, you wonder where
Susan went, or Elmer
You suppose he’s still at OTB
in Troy or Albany
Wife perfect as they get
No qualms unless you
can’t get over yourself
Life chugs along, a breath
at a time, and rolls over
the same bumps
you sometimes like to avoid
simply reflect upon or
go mad, tear up the lawn
get on the roof and bark
set the house on fire
or crack jokes on the phone
with an old friend who knows
Three-nineteen A.M snaps you awake
but you’re smart enough
to keep some change
pasted in the right side
of your brain and two cups
of coffee at dawn, a little silence
Don’t want to talk
because soon, say thirty-eight
minutes or so, you’ll feel
life take hold, settle in
for another taste of that pie
sitting on the shelf
you built for it.

Florida News

John C. Wickmeier, an associate of the Leave it to Beaver Federation has been charged with over indulgent Chicken Tacos consumption, which he says is an addiction and due to childhood feelings of abandonment, in which no chickens were ever allowed in his presence and because, his Aunt, one Priscilla Vanderplot, was arrested for stealing Rhode Island Red Hens from a local poultry farm, which she said she sacrificed for God.

Mr. Wickmeier is being sent to a local facility for observation. He has requested a nest, but local law officials say this is not a given. The defendant insists he once laid an egg.

Awake

Window to your left.

Tiny click of overhead fan

Quiet spread across the neighborhood

You think back when the days emptied

When she simply appeared

Not a soiree, a fantasy, a blank wish

You knew something caught right off

Your mind drifts to her breathing

Your arm rests on her shoulder

that feels larger than your own

A female great horned owl hoots

from the nearby park

Silence and you remember the first dance

At the Pink Hotel, following step

Beyond the mystery of folly, messes, not funny

Days, good and bad memories that fade

And disappear at 3:07 A:M when

A tiny light no one but you can see appears and someone says

This is it and for a second you don’t know

It’s you talking to yourself

It says yes she is the prize the whole damn thing

Beyond wars, endless slaughters, souls gone awry

Crooked politicians, dropping APRs, failed dreams

Impossible circumstances and just plain wisdom

And you lie there hand on her shoulder

Listening to the awe holding

The two of you so still

Friday at the Market

I’ll go for the two pound pork loin
The one in the back
A half pound of red peppers
A half pound of mixed olives, the gorgonzola crumble
Parmesan and Romano mix, so how’s biz?
Looks like Friday’s quiet.
Larry of the red tama Shan hat and wireless glasses says
Just wait and he adjusts his glasses, leans an elbow
on the display case at eye level
Between the mozzarella and salted mozzarella
Don’t give me no trouble, he says, raising his voice
What trouble, who gives trouble, I say
I’ll go for the mild Italian sausage, two please
I was thinking prosciutto but now it’s sausage
You would, he says and I watch his hand dive into the glass case
and flip up two nice ones
What else and he sets them on the scale
steps back and presses the buttons
Up comes red numbers 1.2 pounds $3.71 and he rolls them in wrap
Marietta, the Puerto Rican woman with pulled back black hair waves
Good to see you. Where you been?
She flirts a hair and knows I know
We talked about her high cholesterol last time in
Now she returns to the provolone cheese
in the eye of her customer, a short woman with gray hair
and tiny hands
Meat pie, grape leaves, stuffed cabbage, no
I’ll make my own I think while
Larry rolls the sausage in white paper, tags it
Sets it on the display top with both hands
Thank you he says, for the trouble
and I say, That’s fine.
Larry’s pale blue eyes recede to the next customer.
Twelve he says, thirteen and he’s gone
Marietta talking to a man standing over the chicken breast at the other end
I stick my sausage in the green basket with the rest
and move into the pasta aisle, the rice, the capers,
the frozen sauce to my right and down
past the bake shop to the right of the register
The engagement's off, I say to Nancy from Queens
and she laughs as she always does
See how you are?” she smiles
Her small teeth delight the bright morning
She rings up two tomatoes, sweet onion,
brussel sprouts, Romaine lettuce the, two foot bunch of basil
I’ll make pesto for a month and the rest.
Yeah, I see, but, it’s true love, I say.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, pressing the bills and the change into my hand
she slides the plastic bags. my way and we wink,
without winking and I step outside
into another good day.