Month: February 2011

Marathon Man

there was

something

about him

that drew me over

alone in the corner

backlit by window rays

turned out

he lived

three doors down

his wife had long since died

his kids had their own lives

so, for social interaction

he’d go sit in a circle

somewhere at some senior center

and since he lived

three doors down

he asked me

to come visit him

sometime

so, I did

the house looked like

a woman lived there

like she’d be home soon

and there were photos

of him and her

everywhere

and I watched him

pour cat food in a bowl

and admired his medals

trophies and plaques

for he had run

and won

many, many marathons

but his body betrayed him

so went his mind

and one day

I saw him out my window

walking

and stopping

down the sidewalk

he was three doors down

but had forgotten

how to get there

and then suddenly

somebody in a truck

like his son or son-in-law or something

got him home

and next thing I knew

he was gone

knocked on the door

but nobody answered

and the neighbor hollered over the fence

that he was gone

that his family thought it best

to move him

and just like that

his black cat became somebody else’s pet

and his medals no longer shined

darkened in a box

and all those photos

of him and her

taken down

a “For Sale” sign

put up

and a newly married couple

still in the blush

of bright beginnings

moved in

with all their things

TL

Stirring

waist deep in dirt

neon vested

they shovel

holes

along a busy street

where the police

enforce the speed

at 30 mph

and on another street

there’s a guy

cowboy hat

on his head

cigarette

hanging outta his crook

waiting for his ride

or his bride

or something

and the billboard sign

depicts a fake fiesta

people not as they are

but as they wish they were

and a granny

in her zip-up robe

pushes her can

down the drive

and a guy

in a T-shirt and jeans

hauls lumber

on his shoulder

and a woman

with her bag

is headed to market

on foot

and the “Arbor Day” banner

is bouncing

off the wind

and the girl

at the desk

is wasting

her smile

on me

should be

gracing a magazine

and the specials of the day

are taking way

before the hungry herd

descends

and for a few

morning moments

before

they assume

their 8-hour position

they’re free

encapsulated in their cars

surging from a song

a wake-up cup

a cellular itinerary

FM news

or scattered thoughts

and the sun

is headed straight up

Central Standard Time

TL

Blue

funny

what you

let go of

what you keep

pass a mirror

clothed

hum a song

you don’t know

forget your dog

will die

think a thousand

Christmases are yours

close the closet door

until you can’t

pick up the petals

to put where

lie quiet on your bed

thinking far ahead

autopilot

blah, blah, blah

and the fan is turning

particles everywhere

and your body is changing

form

and your heart quickens

less and less

small talk

weighs you down

wish they were

wish they weren’t

shop, mop, chop, drop

turn a page

stare at the day

head on a pillow

no need for a pill

carrots over fries

skip the salt

fast-forward commercials

rewind

and every time

something fades

or falls

or frays

or folds

some part

of you

does, too

funny

what you

let go of

what you keep

TL

Nightcap

walk the dog

look for

“the man in the moon”

but just saw

the moon

trees stretched

across the street

thinking about something

about nothing

end of the day

three stars in a line

one foot

in front

of the other

distance

and time

TL

Cowboys

no amount

of moisturizer

can iron out

the inevitable

Sean Connery

can’t be Bond forever

Clark Gable is Gone With the Wind

Elvis blew up and left the building

Gregory Peck took a Roman Holiday from Finch

James Dean was a Rebel

Dan Rather’s on cable

and John F Kennedy, Jr.

never saw it coming

live too old

die too young

TL

Granted

never knew

the sun

‘cept when it was gray

never knew

the rain

‘cept when it was dust

never knew

the wind

‘cept when it was still

never knew

the moon

‘cept when it was dark

never knew

the day before

‘cept when it was after

TL

Morning

and she’s

at the table

with her notepad

and her pen

and she’s asking,

“How would you like your eggs?”

and then she goes

through the spiel  

and I say what I always say

and she goes away

with her notepad

and her pen

and her spiel

and I take a break for her

and change the oil

from black to beige

and wonder what

his story is

the guy a booth over

eating his way through

“all-you-can-eat-pancakes”

and he doesn’t

really want ‘em

but he eats ‘em

as if he’s gotta make up

for that person

the one who stood him up

the one he’s been waiting for

the one who never turned up

and they take away his sticky plate

and bring him a fresh stack

and he darts his eye around the room

and we pretend not to notice

and the couple to the left

haven’t spoken

save their order

like they said

all there was to say

when they were twenty

and seventy

just wants a waffle

with a side of bacon

and a can of oil

and somebody just left a tip

jangle of change

and there’s a line waiting

to go out

and a line waiting

to go in

TL

Gradual

the granules

add up

over time

and beaches form

and the granules

they stick

to the bottom

of your bare sole

and you trek

from pier to pier

and turn the faucet full

and spray away

bags of brown sugar

packed

and through the deluge

 a few specks

make it

in

tucked between

a toe or two

and find the floor

and get swept away

out the door

into the day

and another bare sole

happens by

and somehow

there’s a sift

a siren’s call

and the grains that were

are no more

swallowed up

they were

and tossed about

and over time

a bed is made

and the sea sleeps

and dreams

of a new shell

a perfect conch

and the sand dollars drift

and the crabs fight to keep their shields

the coral porous

a watercolor wall

against a mirrored moon

there a Milky Way

to bathe in

the wind a towel

and the ocean

combs the seaweed strands

and shaves the foam

from the face

clean and bright

full of light

and at the edge

another toe

takes a dip

a granule sift

TL

Note

ride around

in my car

down the same streets

looking for what

no answer in the fountain

just wasted wishes there

the train is coming

down the track

on time

and the coffee

in my cup

is cold

but I drink it

anyway

and the blue bird

teeters on the tip of a tree

that hasn’t formed its height and width

and I can hear a rumble

overhead

looks like a shark to me

and my head is aching

like my heart

and I haven’t a word to say

to you

that you haven’t heard

so I’ll sit where I sit

then get up

and run

somewhere

TL

The Lamp

my grandmother

never forgave my mother

for selling the fine China,

the furnishings

and all the antiques

especially the lamp

the one with the hand-painted roses

etched across two globes

of course, there were many things, she never forgave

but these were the tangibles

and it didn’t matter

if the plant had closed

if Dad had lost his job

if the house had to be sold

the white, two-story one on Three Rivers Road

it didn’t matter

if we flew South

if a marriage didn’t make it

if what was lost

hadn’t a thing to do

with what was auctioned off

it didn’t matter

if the fine China,

the furnishings

and all the antiques

especially the lamp

the one with the hand-painted roses

etched across two globes

no, it didn’t matter

if it all came back

it only mattered

to her

and so

Gram,

you’d be happy to know

yesterday

I found a little lamp

with hand-painted roses

etched across one globe

and thought of you

and how I wish …

you were alive

to give it to

TL