Posted on Poetic Asides 7/09

Holidaze

No one could fix
my overwhelming confusion
when my parents told me
there was nothing to do
but try.

I couldn’t believe it.
My parents tried to console me
with quick talking reasons
how they had deceived me,
but why?

Santa finally admitted
that he couldn’t assemble
my new Christmas bike,
and there was nothing to do
but cry.

Pillow Talk

Again I dreamt the moment
when the two of us were one,
but a nightmare twisted it
into something that I fear.

Night fantasies cannot be retold
as real as they were lived,
for my pillow trapped the details
and I cannot find the words.

Truth is as elusive
as the dreams my pillow steals,
but I can tell you everything
if you just dream with me.

Daddy’s Legacy

The factory has been closed
for over fifteen years
and yet the building
stone and strong
stands tall in its blackness.

The massive rooms still hoard
twisted wire and circuits
that connect to nothing
and your footsteps mock
the punch clock’s silence.

But lonely cement columns
still bare the ceiling’s weight
showing the scribbled math
of Daddy’s 3 – 11 shift
as they tallied their toil.

Broken windows are covered
with thirty-five years
of the evaporated sweat
men reluctantly left behind
solidifying their working years.

Time has diminished
the value of their competition
with low foreign wages
and the loading dock
lost the game to weeds.

Boils and Blemishes

It looks like a bloodbath,
that massacre of innocent socks,
tee shirts, and cold pizza crusts
erupting seemingly overnight
on my teenager’s floor.

I have seen this slaughter before
and attacked it with a vengeful vacuum
tossing candy wrappers
into the hunkering garbage can
hiding beneath the debris.

Annihilation of dust bunnies
seemed my only defense
as I turned my head
from the violent stench
of solidified mac ‘n cheese.

But this repeated assault
of my defeated energy
finally boils over today
as I reach through the carnage
and pick up her car keys.

Turning Up Their Noses

Whispers follow you,
chased by snickers,
as they try to catch up
with your new way of dressing.

But as a fashion trendsetter,
you’re raising more eyebrows
than from church choir ladies
who hear you fart.

So walk one step ahead,
follow no one,
and only the people behind you
have to worry.

Health Care Stimulus Package

Walt went in to surgery
with fear and trepidation
for both men and little boys
have a hard time letting go.

They want to be the one in charge
wielding the sharpened scalpel
and have the praise for heart in hand,
never letting their patient go.

But Walt, alas, was gurney bound
as the wheels rolled down the hall
and only when he spied the nurse
did his fortune turn around.

For a nurse with bosoms high
came by his side to check
to see if his heart was strong enough
and she gently took his arm.

Holding his wrist to check his pulse
her breasts brushed by his ear
and so it seemed almost impolite
to not take that closer look.

Just then her bra lace barely covering
could not hold them back
and Walt was quickly out of it
before the anesthesia,

…but what a way to go.

Cum Laude

Parents assembled
cameras at the ready
the graduates march
with mortarboards tassled.

Faculty tributes
ever glowing praises
but graduates listen
with an eye to the prize.

Pomp and Circumstance
playing throughout the gym
while graduates ignore
with hopes for a cupcake.

Kindergarten bites.

Laden Down With Summer’s Heat

Clawing like clam diggers
we dug our holes in the wet sand
and tying strings to sticks,
we laid them across bowls we formed.

Hot wax was poured
and needed time to cool
so we laid back tanning
hardening with them.

When the other beach goers
went home at the end of the day
we stayed pulling up our sand candles
laying them onto driftwood.

Our candle flames flickered
quietly with the evening breeze
and envious mayflies
landed without a sound nearby.

With finally nothing between us,
it was only then I could tell you
that your love was burdening me
with pressures that I couldn’t bare.

With a quick collecting of clothes
you stomped away
stirring up a sandy wind
that extinguished our flames.

Putting Out the Garbage

It was a two sweater day
when I grabbed my coat
pulled my on boots
and sent my breath
into my palms.

Snow was crunching louder
than my memories of chips
and other summer foods
which only made my stomach
twist again.

I walked down the alley
peeking into the garbage
looking for cardboard boxes
or anything else
that would burn.

Wax coated milk cartons
were my prey today
because the melting wax
burns slowly with
the prettiest of colors,
green and blue
hungry tongues of fire.

And Momma smiled
when I brought one home.
She was an artist, too.

Nobody’s Worth Sickness

Her body is so limp
rolled into a blanket sausage
with her hair fever damp
sticking to her forehead.

The doctor’s orders are clear
for every hour on the hour
and prayers are flowing like syrup
flavored with sweet cherries.

You twist a rag under the faucet
running cool relief into the cloth
and with your mother’s touch
wipe love into her skin.

Medicine and tenderness are measured
as the hours wilt into morning
but relief comes in a remedy of tears
as she sits up and you lie down.

Nobody’s Worth Listening To

Pity the poet’s love
who must drop their shoulders
and sigh with a quietness
more yielding than the graceful air
of a fanning peacock’s tail.

Beauty in nature and in words
must be displayed in gentle tones
so soft that their lover does not hear
when they are told once,
and once again,

“Listen to this one.”

Nobody’s Worth Convincing

They have the same ingredients,
but no one has to be convinced
that homemade cookies are better.

So without too much effort
you should be able to identify
that I am better than her.

Or choke on it.
Your choice.

Nobody’s Worth the Price of Admission

I had to admit that I was wrong
so wrong.

Not that I was, of course,
but I just had to
shut you up.

It was not worth being right
to listen to you to telling me
how wrong I am,
so wrong.

Not that I care, of course,
but I just had to
listen to you.

Because you said I should just
pack my bags and get out,
get out.

Yes, my dear.
How right you are,
so right.

Nobody’s Worth the Assembly

With the taste of my neighbor’s charcoal
lingering on the back of my taste buds,
I paid one hundred and thirty-five dollars
for a new gas grill.

Before the box was even out of my car
I loaded up on hamburger, brats and chicken.
And then, with salivating anticipation,
I opened the box.

It was filled with bubble wrap, and lots of it
around every single piece,
a popping fun for a four-year-old,
but a blistering pain to me.

It seemed as if there were
more than one hundred and thirty-five pieces
all slightly different looking
than in the directions.

Now with the parts all spread on the driveway
I stand with screwdriver in hand
contemplating the cost
of the assembly.

But there are only a few bills left in my wallet,
so I order a pepperoni pizza,
pre-assembled.

Nobody is Worth a Bad Back Up Plan

Sometimes life can screw you over
and that’s when you need my Dad
who can fix just about anything.

His advice has always been:
You need a back up plan.
But when I saw your yard
I was quite confused.

You could have your yard boast
benches or water features
instead of whirligigs and garden gnomes.

And other people buy wood
to build a house for seeds
to watch the birds bend over.

But if you think a flat wooden decoration
of a bent over fat lady’s ass
should be displayed in your yard as art,

then even my Dad can’t fix you.

Nobody’s Worth Nothing

The latest nobody
was taken to the morgue
and they slid him out
of a silver drawer
with a tag on his toe
so you could see
if he was your brother.

He wasn’t.

And at that moment
that fact was all
that mattered to you.
Your brief connection
to this man was over
and the sheet was dropped again.

Yet his spirit tried to be heard
with his muffled voice
ever so slightly
lifting the sheet
as he tried to warn you
to find your real brother
before it was too late.

It wasn’t.

And that was all
that mattered to him.
His brief connection
to you was over
and the sheet was dropped again.

And you could have sworn
you heard him whisper
and it made you say, “Huh?”
until the coroner asked, “What?”

And you replied, “For a minute
I thought I heard somebody,
but it was nobody.”

It wasn’t.

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