Friday, May 31, 2019

Late Twentieth Century Traffic Jam Blues

Traffic's going no where
in a hurry

like a drunkard's favorite story
with predictable results:

people get angry.
Feelings get hurt.
Things get broken.
And eventually

everyone leaves.
Only to return
several days later.
Older, but none
the wiser.

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

What to Do About the Sky

What to do about the sky?

Patch the holes with pasteboard
and duct tape.

Paint it blue again.

If you don't have blue paint,
paint it white during the day
and black at night.

Gather the rubble,
the broken glass and plaster,
put it in a bottle.
Add water
and shake.

Think of the ocean.
There is so much left to do.

Friday, May 24, 2019

Bedroom Mirror

If it is a window
it hasn't been cleaned for years.

It is difficult to make out
what is on the other side.

It looks like people
doing ordinary things:
brushing their teeth,
getting dressed,
reading a book.

Usually there are one or two.
Occasionally more.

Their voices are muffled
as if speaking
a foreign language.

Of the hundreds
that come and go,
one is there all the time.

You recognize the hair,
the way he sits, staring
off into the distance.

You think he may be
trying to talk to you,
to communicate.
But you can't make out
the words.

You wave.
He waves back.

This goes on for days.

Friday, May 17, 2019


The clouds have been torn from a notebook.

The clouds are pages torn from a notebook.

The clouds: pages torn from a notebook.

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Cooking Pot

After the war
they sold their uniforms.
They hid their rifles
in the back of the wood shed.
They turned their helmets upside down,
washed off any blood,
scraped out stray hairs,
bits of flesh and brains,
and filled them with boiling water
for fifteen minutes.
When they were done
the priest said a prayer
and they started peeling
onions and potatoes
for dinner.