Friday, August 31, 2012

I Was Married Once to a Bonobo

I know that sounds mean,
but it’s ok, she was a bonobo –

a drop of the hat mad,
mud-slinging, screeching,
taunting-and-running-away-
sulking bonobo.

Funny thing is,
I don’t think she knew.

There were a couple of times
in our twenty years together
when I saw her almost react
to what she saw in the mirror.
It was something akin to self-awareness,
an almost seeing
what she had let herself become.

Perhaps I was holding the mirror too close.



The Broadkill Review (a print-only journal) - August 2012

Leaves

I love watching wind
nudge leaves off trees
so red and orange sails
can glide through crisp
chilly air with furtive flits
that prolong their descent.
Eventually they bounce
upon deep green grass
like children jumping
into their parents' bed
way too early
on Saturday morning.
I cannot stop missing my sons.



The Broadkill Review (a print-only journal) - August 2012

Sweet Milk

Sometimes I run my tongue
around the mouth of my beard
just to remind myself
what I had for breakfast.

Just now, I tasted
sweet milk left over
from a branny
bowl of cereal
I'd poured using
light from the fridge.

I’d eaten in silence
at just before dawn
like I was at an old
one-pump gas station
in the middle of nowhere
wondering where I was going.



The Broadkill Review (a print-only journal) - August 2012

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Pococurante

Paradise wasn’t lost; it was taken away
over a tree-turf dispute between God’s
children and God’s pride. His eloquent
opining about what goes before falls
came later and was apparently a hard won
understanding that hasn’t quite sunk in.
Rather than let bygones be bygones
and accept the divine wisdom of the street game,
No harm, no foul, He takes elocution lessons
then Pontius-Pilates His hands in a shallow bowl,
excusing the bloody consequences as the wages of sin.



Punchnel's - August 15, 2012