Sevenling (The Queen Alone)

The queen alone in their castle
sprawls out on Egyptian cotton king,
a sobbing lady-in-waiting.

She counts threads to patch them together.
Her king tests out another feather bed,
searching for a softer comforter.

She’s three sheets to the wind.

Of Mice and Men and Women

Ode to another happy day
of waiting
for excitement
to jump
with a click of our mice,
the sideways glances
through whiskers twitching
not wanting,
but wanting to see,
if the long awaited results are in,
the anticipated:
HAZAAA!

But then
reality
bites
like limburger cheese.

The cat
is too busy
to play with us.

Keats Ode on Melancholy,
partners in sorrow
of the April shroud:
Let’s glut our sorrow on this morning.
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh.

Pass the cheddar cheese.
We wait.

Noodles Stay in the Strainer

From the protection of the roof’s overhang
I stand waiting for the rain to let up,
but my hectic schedule and the rain’s
are on a different timetable.

Somewhere between the store and my car
the accumulation of wetness
reaches the point when my shoulders drop
from its guarded state to acceptance.

My feet stop as my head tips rain
down the slippery slide of my face
to my shirt now completely soaking
while other shoppers scurry by.

They shake rain from their hair
in disbelief as I completely surrender
my grocery bags in uplifted hands
a helicopter between parked cars.

A dry child in the next car,
her Nuk and eyebrows raising,
already possesses enough knowledge
to see I am slipping through.

Dying To Get To the Lake

I wasn’t around in ’42, so my Daddy tells the tale
of a time during World War II
when a catastrophic event occurred.

It was a surging summer storm,
the kind of legend and lore,
that gushed through the streets of Bayfield.

A July night, the 16th it was said,
left the town deluged with eight inches of water,
that rushed down the hill, taking everything with it.

Washington Street was cut stem to stern,
with Rittenhouse Avenue right on its path,
with mud pouring thicker than caramel.

A gully grew wide like Ballpark ravine
leaving children atop a mound of sand
in front of the First National Bank.

If it wasn’t tied down, it floated down,
boulders now bakery bound,
sheds and garages rolled with it.

On Third Street, buildings collapsed,
walls crashed in, cars overrun with sand,
and the train swam off its tracks.

But the worst, they say, was the gruesome sight
of coffins riding down the hill
unable to rest, on their way to the lake.

So Tony and Bill rode their Caterpillar ‘dozer,
and got to diggin’ on Cemetery Hill,
working for a week to recover the dead.

Past shattered buildings, stick-built and stone,
the rough-carved boxes, caskets, and body parts
all needed to be carried and reburied.

Not battle shot, but vaccinated for protection,
from pathogens while handling the dead,
the men continued their gruesome task.

They dug till the shore water turned brown
filling boat slips with sand, and stories to lore,
still sung with gusto at Big Top Chautauqua.

An Upside-Down Stamp Means Love

The mailman,

an uncaring,
ignorant,
infantile,
excuse for a man,

delivered to me
at the address of our
SECOND new home,

ANOTHER letter
with my husband’s ex-wife’s name
brazenly included in OUR address.

I picked up my letter opener
and it took all the willpower I had
not to use it to open him

or the letter.

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