Saturday, September 15, 2012

Pumpkin Pie

Pure autumn color bursts
under snow-white whipped cream.
Memories of Mama and family and noisy
people gathered to eat and laugh and casually
kindle the ties that bind
intensify as the aroma of sweet savory
nutmeg crowds the kitchen and my beloved
parents' house becomes a home again -
in spite of the year's long

Boston Literary Magazine - Fall 2012

Losing Track of Time

I’m an old-fashioned watch-tapper
with a peptic stomach
and a recurring nightmare
of all eyes turning slowly my way
as the scowling man at the podium
begins pelting me with condemnations
over my lazy procrastination.

You could say I appreciate punctuality.

If I was a woman, I’d be a bun-headed,
red-lips-pursing, battle-axe
of an I-hate-late-people person.

Still, I just love losing track of time with you.

Boston Literary Magazine - Fall 2012

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

My First Good Beer

It was after a long day of bucking bales.
I was hot, itchy, smelled of sweat
and straw and old-truck fumes.
Pretty sure I bucked the most,
definitely bucked my share –
and all the way to the top, too!

I was seventeen, law-abiding,
and had not acquired the acquired taste.
Plus, I was kind of scared of alcohol
(I had my reasons).

I put the last bale in its place,
wearied myself to the truck
and put back the sideboards.
Next, I took off my leather gloves,
soft from hard use;
my hands smelled like saddle.
I took off my wet grassy shirt
and hosed down cold.

Everybody else had started
pulling beers from the cooler
when my step-dad gave me the nod –
I didn’t often get the nod.
So, I shoved my hand into the crushed ice,
got myself one, and braced
for the bitter. But it was good.
It was real good.

I let myself lean
on the rusty tailgate, wiped my face
with the wadded-up shirt, and savored
that goddamned nod.

Naugatuck River Review - Summer 2012