Monday, February 14, 2011


Little feet run the stairs
squeals, laughter, hoots.
Fridge door slams.
School bus, prom, graduation
gone and still not gone.
Phone rings at hours not your hours.
A simple purr since you turned it down.
A little peace is good.
The TV blinks past arthritis, pills and Tide.
They challenge the walls
the arms, leg and flesh that dropped
their beauty to this earth.
“Look what you did.
The job sucks. I hate you.
He’s my true love.
It’s not just sex.”
Unremitting froth ruins
and feeds leaving home for good.
Your left eyebrow grows cynical
A wait after the rant, the heat
and maybe, if you’re lucky
“I love you Mom.”
Now sitting alone on the porch
watching the first quarter of the moon rise
you wonder at the odds
the magic of the stars
the hunger of your children’s hearts.

Sunday, February 6, 2011


Always something to keep us up nights.
Credit card gets maxed, the Neptune Society
offers information and the wife
still loves you even when
the TV flicks the mortgage
to your brain, to a drug
to a talking M and M, to a car
that wants sex. Something
Eisenhower didn’t foresee nor did Roosevelt
never mind this President
and you aren’t an Idol, a famous someone
nor a free agent dribbling
down the main drag to Paradise.

Friend, the moon is coming up
between the bombs and the sugar-coated dreams
slipped nicely between the lawnmower
and a thumb out for Mount Zen.
But how does one choose on a hot day
or a cold snowy night when the sky
falls white to the distant hills?
Where did it go, this song of ours?
Stand still. Wait a day, a week.
Give it a try. Listen to the click
when your eyes open and close.
Hold up your hands.