Because Her Dog Was Chained to the Bed

She slept on an ironing board at night
so she wouldn't move in her sleep
or get her fingers sticky rocking.

Right away I could tell
she'd had a face lift
and they forgot to do her eyes.

She couldn't light them up
with a whole box of kitchen matches,

not even for the men she loved -
dozens and dozens of them
desperate as she was.

She said even lousy sex is good
and puchered up whistling
when she spit in the wind.

I don't know what to tell you
except she collected keys
and kept her pills locked up in closets.

She drank Wild Turkey
and had any number of operations,
always running back into the burning house
because her dog was chained to the bed

guarding her box
of jellies and gadgets.

The Desire to Be What She Wasn't

She cut rubies from watermelons,
perfectly carved already
and swallowed the seeds,

married her sister's husband
and lit fires at night.

Sit, sit, sit she said
serving lemon tea
and watercress salad,

while the mean wanted drumsticks,
to drip grease from their elbows
and lick their fingers.

She wore bees in her hair
and put the honey on her tongue
so no one would notice
how sharp it was.

Below her navel was a well of wine
and dandelions turned white around it.

Who, who, who she cried,
confusing men with her deception.

She appeared to know something.

She kept even her name a secret
and scrubbed her dirty pots with sand
like an old woman by the river

which is what she was,
hiding that too
in a dance of veils.

Doing Time in a Psychiatric Unit

Like a trpped bird
raging against the windows,
I pressed my face sideways
trying to see a tree,
houses in a row,
the lawn,
city lights,
anything beyond the dreary walls,
beyond the wardens, the psych techs
looking for a rule to enforce.

The sterile time passed.

Morning in my city

The sparrows have gone mad
with singing in the pinion in the parking lot.

Garbage trucks grown with heavy loads and shriek
as they lift their burden high above the head.

The cars whip past my building
and the sun rises.

it is a Friday morning
in my city
and all of us wake up to each other.

I open my door to the morning breezes.

The sign on the deserted building next door
says "Gifts of Distinction."

I eat an omelet on the fire escape.
My cat stretches and yaws.

Soon we will bake in the August heat.


8/17/08

Old Friend

I am thinking of you friend,
childhood friend.
Me. The one you were afraid of.
The one you almost started something with,
but thought better of it.

I was in a bad place
and we had no time for each other.
Too many duties, too much baggage.

The wind has blown wild through my hair
and I turned brown in the sun.

I'm only hoping you will be there.
We're supposed to be in the same place
at the same time.

I'm thinking about it.
But, probably won't do anything.
Neither will you.

We like each other too much for that.

Thank you for that one night.
I haven't thought about it until now.

It was good for both of us.

I've had my fill of younger men
and want some only older.

I only hope you are there
and survived the years.


8/17/08

Untitled

From crushed glass,
steel
tensile strength
against certain winds.

Bend and flex
in bridges from this place
to another.

Bearing the burden of traffic
of people going somewhere


08/19/08

In Love With California

The inland sea wafts through the night breeze.
It smells like California.

And I long to be there.
Anywhere but here.

The lights of the city glow
like the eyes of a woman in love.

By tomorrow I will love this city again.
But, tonight I'm in love
with the smell of California
and would trade the shadowy mountains I so love
for the gift of sea
and do so with every beat of my heart.