LAUNDRY LADY

A pair
Of worn, white socks

Encircled
By dark, dirty clothes

In a heap
Of laundry
On the floor

Look like
An old lady’s face
Wrapped in a shawl

MEATHEAD

Oh here he goes
With heft again
Heaving as he may

Huffing and puffing
His big chest for something
But still, he holds no sway

For strength aside
His muscles try
To make up for his mind

That door would budge
With just a nudge
If the knob were so inclined

ON THE CORNER

Pedestrians walk across the yellow rectangles
Two men drink their coffee under an awning
The tree branches bob gently

One of the men holding a coffee cup
Gestures vehemently with his other hand

A man with a dog on a leash
Stops to look inside a shop window
While his dog sniffs at a light pole

Blue and green trash cans stand by the curb
Cars continue to make their noise
And barely avoid crashing

One of the same pedestrians from before
Walks back across the yellow rectangles

IN SEARCH OF A BATHROOM

When any bin,
Bucket, basin,
Or brick wall
Would do

DEAD BUG

Cutting a green pepper
On a wooden board
I saw a little black speck
A piece of peppercorn
That I almost just tossed in
With the tacos

But I’m glad I didn’t
Because I slid the point of the knife
Underneath the speck
Brought it closer to my eyes

It had legs
A little creature, dead
With its legs curled up
Underneath it

But it must have had its fill
And thought itself lucky
To have made its way
Inside the pepper

Until it realized
It would be a coffin
Albeit, one fit
For a Pharaoh

So maybe, all in all
Life wasn’t so bad
For the little dead bug

HER HONEY

Some would say
That the beekeeper
Brings us honey

But, really, she
Is the artist

Like the bees
Bring the honey

And I am only
The collector

Like the keeper
Who stands idly by

Patient enough
To collect and deliver
Their sweet creation

LEFTOVER LOVE

I try to drink it in
Eat it
Consume
And digest

All of this moment
That taste, smells,
And feels like
I wish it always would

I want it so much
That I miss it already
Even though I still have it

I breathe in deeply
As if I could inhale some
Seal it in a container
And put it in the fridge
To save for later

THE SUN COMES UP

So early
In the summer
That I wonder
If I even
Got to sleep

OLD MAN #2

Another old man
With a gray mustache
And glasses

Eats a biscuit
And drinks a coffee
By the window

Picking up crumbs
Delicately, slowly
Between his fingers

DRINK CART

The attendant came down the aisle
Rolling the drink cart
With her gloved hands on either side
Looking down
To the left and to the right
Shouting, “Elbows! Elbows!”

PHOTOGRAPHER #2

Stood on the path
In everyone’s way

Looking up at the sky
At a trail of smoke
Left by a plane

Some of the passersby
Stood for a second

And tried to find
What the cameraman
Was seeing

He pointed and explained
But they couldn’t see
Or just didn’t understand

What the big deal was
About a trail of smoke
In the sky

NAKED IN THE TREES

I stand among the trees
Welcoming back the nature
That got poured over in the city
With cement streets
And concrete buildings

A few trees remain
In square-foot sections of sidewalk
But not enough to stand among
And be surrounded by
Like the forest out here—

The grass is overgrown, as it should be
Some trees lie knocked down, but not by man
Most trees still stand, as they should
And I stand with them, at peace

CROOKED EAGLE (this would be better as prose)

A desert eagle landed
On the roof across from our balcony
And James explained
How the falconer
Brought the eagle everyday
To chase away the smaller birds

We watched the eagle
Pick at its plumage
As one small bird
And then another
And another
Landed
On the roof next to it

The eagle must have
Been getting more
From the small bird mafia
Than from the falconer

MARCUS (this would be better as prose)

I got the chicken
With brussels sprouts and pumpkin purée
The chicken was perfect
But the brussels sprouts were undercooked

I wasn’t going to tell him
Because you don’t tell strangers
What’s wrong with
What they love

But he told me his story—

Made his way over to the U.S.
From Germany
And sold automation technology
To auto companies
Even though baking
Was always his passion

He would take the executives
Of these auto companies
Out to dinner
At the nicest restaurants
And that is when he promised himself
He would open his own someday

It started as a bakery
And then expanded to
A dinner menu

And I told him I believed in him
And I thought his restaurant would be big
And then we weren’t strangers anymore

So I told him
The brussel sprouts were undercooked
And he shook my hand
And said he would tell the chef

TELLING STORIES (this would be better as prose)

When you talk to someone
And listen for a while
You get restless at some point
And wonder when it will be over

But you get past that
And forget about yourself
And actually start to live in their story
And be interested in it

You ask them questions
Really wanting to know
What it was like
At the twists and turns

It’s their eyes
That always get me
When I am as close as I can get
To leaving my own life
And living theirs

Their eyes
Are the last door
I look
And then fall
Completely into them

>>>

When I listen to someone
Tell a story
It’s always their eyes
That finally get me
Out of myself
And my own worries
And into them
And their story
I leave my own life
And live theirs

AN OLD WHITE MAN (this would be better as prose)

With gray stubble on his face
Wearing a tattered cowboy hat,
An oversized button-up shirt,
And oversized khaki pants

Slouched
In a straight-backed
Wooden chair
His head leaning forward

He looked out from under
The lids of his half-closed,
Bloodshot eyes

Raised his veiny,
Hairy-knuckled hand

Pointed
One of his long skeleton fingers

At the flamenco dancer
In her festive
Red-and-black dress
Stomping on stage
Putting on a show for the gallery

And said something
To explain
Why he was pointing
But it was incoherent

Maybe because
Of the empty bottle of wine
Next to him on the table

But for a guy of his size
He would have needed
More than just one bottle
To get to that point

By his demeanor
I guessed that he was either

The proprietor
Of the gallery,

The artist who made
All the pieces,

Or otherwise the man
In charge of the moment
In some way
Or another

As we all watched
And waited for him
To take the lead

THE OLDEST GAME

The girl whom he
Was trying to get

Danced
While he pretended at it

And mostly
Just watched her

WHERE ART THOU, HANGOVER

I woke up confused
By not feeling worse

And confused also
About what to do

Other than whatever
Would make me feel better

Eventually
I went down to the pool

And so started
A day full
Of what wasn’t planned

But just happened
One carefree accident
After another

FORCE

I carry with me
Force

Walking
Through the hallway

I bump
The door frame
With my hip bone

And almost
Knock
The house down

>>>

Apparently
I don’t know
My own strength

When I bumped
The door frame
With my hip bone

The structure
Shook so

I thought I almost
Knocked
The house down

CONSTRUCTION NOISE

At the job across the street
The construction crew
Must have taken off today

I can hear the leaves
Blowing down the hill
Scratching on the cement

The soft wind
Whistling around the edges
Of our bay window

And even the light buzzing
Of complete silence
For brief moments

—Sounds that,
For as long
As the construction
Has gone on,

Have been drowned out
By hammering, sawing,
Nailing, shouting,

And other sounds
Of industry

Which usually
Make me feel guilty
For lying in bed

Today
I can take the day off too

A SPACE IN TIME

The hot sun
On the back porch

Bakes into
Bare legs
Crossed over

Eyes closed
Head leaning back
Lungs exhaling

Here is where
I’ve needed to come

Less of a place
More of a space
In time—

A moment
Like this

BIG DENTURE

Bright light
Breaks through
The mouth
Of the tunnel

Like the face
Of the mountain
Is missing
A tooth

MENTAL

I can never
Get my mind
Out of the way
Fast enough
To get
To the visceral

I’ve already
Abstracted
Clouds to heavens
Blood to war
Food to hunger

Described it
To death
Pondered every
Possibility
Made it
Mental

>>>

I’ve already sent
My mental assistant
Running down the hall
To pull the file
Of past memories

LAST BEER

Beer bubbles
At the bottom of the glass
Make me sad

Because this
Was the last one
In the fridge

And I’ll have to switch over
To white wine
After these last sips

RESORT NEIGHBOR

Drinks in hand
Forearms resting
On the railing

He said, you are young
And full of energy

What do you mean
By “energy,” I asked

He pointed out at the lights,
Boats, roofs, roads, water

And asked me
What do you see out there?

He waited patiently
Like a teacher
For the right answer

I said I saw lights,
Boats, roofs, roads, water

He said there are
Protons and electrons
It’s all energy

I could see in his eyes
When he said it

He meant more
Than the physics lesson
I learned in high school

I wasn’t sure
Exactly what
But still

When he looked at me
And asked if I understood
I said I did, sincerely

THE SOUND OF BEING UNDERWATER

Treading water
With my ears above the surface
I heard
Squeals of children
Music from the beach bars
Waves crashing
Vendors selling

Underwater
I heard
What I try to remember
How to describe
Back on the beach
It was
Not silent

I’ll have to
Swim out again
And fish
For words
So you can
Bring it back to shore
Inland
To wherever you are

Grill it, bake it
Or however you like your fish
To taste, hear
And be there
Underwater
And at peace

ORNERY FUTURE

I get into a moment
And think that this
Will be forever
And start to plan
Accordingly

Setting up expectations
And parameters
For the future to fit into
What I’m experiencing
Right now

But of course
The future
Is an ornery child
That never obeys
Its present parent

LOOSELY

I can close my eyes
And escape from where
My sight says I am

But my other senses
Still tether me
To what I can hear and feel

So I plug my ears
And lie down
On soft cushions

I still remain myself
Albeit
A little more loosely

DEEP BREATH

I was so worried
That I wasn’t breathing

I realize now
As I’ve gotten the news

That what I feared
Isn’t true

And I take my first deep breath
In a while

PARK POEMS

A baseball
In the grass

As the sun sets
On the skyline

I pick a poem
Like a leaf

Or a lyric
From a bird’s song

Then run home
To write it down

MOMENTS

If I could just keep in
To each for its own sake

Not always looking later
Longing for the next

They would come and come
Countless

Each for itself
As all things are

Eased into being
And then back to nothing

Without my meddling
To make moments
More than they are

BROKEN BLENDER

Melted the rubber
Wedged between

An engine that had
All the strength

And a blade that had
All the ambition

It was obvious
That the rubber

Was already
Worn out

But the engine-blade
Industrial complex

Didn’t really
Seem to care

LIKE THE HARE

For what do I wait
While wanting wanes
Though I may be
Strong and swift
At the start
Rejoicing
In the sprint
Stretching
Straight ahead
Until the end
Seems farther
And farther
And the wanting
Which at first
Burned bright
As a fire
Turns to ash
And cools

GRATITUDE

I close my eyes to remember sight is a gift
I sit in silence to remember sound is a gift
I fast to remember food is a gift
I catch a cold to remember health is a gift
I spend time alone to remember friendship is a gift
I stay in one place to remember travel is a gift
I go to sleep to remember life is a gift

SOOTHING SHEET

I laid my ear
On the sheet

And listened
To the silence

That softly
Said, “Shh

All else
Is outside

Far away
From here”

ONE BOAT

With my forehead pressed
Against the plane window

Leaving a greasy smudge
On the glass

I looked down at the ocean
And spotted a solitary boat

Reclined in my seat
To see all the ocean ahead

And then leaned forward
To search the blue behind

But there was not
A single
other
one