3.23.2018

Want Ad

SHM seeks SWF, 24-35;
nurses preferable;
smokers not discouraged.

Vague emphasis placed on dutiful desire
to court, help train replacements.
Coitus interruptus only a temporary solution.
Must love children.

Should appreciate barrel-chested physique
of Hemingway in his thirties
minus the ability to box, fish
take life of any kind, write objectively
or find beauty in bullfights.
Should appreciate
men who love Hemingway anyway.
Should appreciate Hemingway.
Pension will only appreciate in value
unless it fails.

Underdog lovers a plus.
Those amazed by merit
in the negative
like how a pound of bacon
cooks down deliciously
jump to almost the front of the line
second only to nurses.

An ability to comprehend
the meaning of the phrase
"so successful in the jungle"
strongly favored over cutters of cookies.
Points given for baking skills
and an affinity for chocolate.
Garlic is life.

Firearm friendly only.
What's a cowboy without it?

Might have stopped speaking
of beautiful things
once their frequency diminished.

It took three blown bulbs
in as many weeks
before the fixture was decommissioned.

Don't inquire within.

3.21.2018

Breakfast in Bed

It's found on the floor
of your apartment
by two friends from your hometown
who've never been here until now.
Some sort of crystal
the color of your morning sink spit
after a night you've smoked too much
an inch-and-a-quarter long
with hexagonal sides
and a point on each end
cloudy in its interior;
it's probably plastic
like the rest.

You wonder where it came from
and if you've bedded a witch lately
or your landlords have cast a hex.

Cocksure without marching powder
you toss it on the dining room table
playing down its odd discovery
with another tale of undue glory
from nights you barely remember
making note in gray matter
to investigate its origin
on a morning much like this one
with a scratch on your thigh
from the heel of a stiletto
bought for a song
and a growling dog dream.

Consuming from dented cans
is dangerous.
It's not a secret
if two people know.

3.15.2018

Youthful Mating Calls

It takes a sick word
like "vivisection"
to clean between the tines.
When your tongue's cut
licking envelopes
is the last sign
that it's over.

If the smell of citronella
doesn't bring you back
to swatting gnats
then it's best
we killed our baby
and whatever else was shared.

3.11.2018

Quarter Rican Dixie

She's that cigarette
you find on the floor
of your passenger seat.
You have to try
although you know
it's long stale--
One puff to be sure
before it's tossed
out the window
at a late model sedan
that's been tailgating
for miles.

Local moguls will concur
that the merit of breakfast in bed
can be argued
but the West is rather wild.
Trust me since I've been.

3.04.2018

Forensic Photosynthesis

It's become a unit of time
in a makeshift hermitage.
Two aloes every Sunday
in the eastward kitchen window
receive their pints
rain or shine.
The weeks shrink shorter.
Momentum builds.
Kinetic.

Today the water filters through
overflows from underneath
covering the sill
with excess undesired
like proposals scoffed
by ears too proud.
A towel's spread to soak it up
so the paint won't swell and chip.
The landlord will keep the deposit
regardless of this effort.

Their roots will suck the remainder
through capillary action.
Each molecule contributes.
Shoots will sprout their flowers.

Where nature's fooled
both art and science
is the inconsistent thirst.
What's measured and poured
and savored for months
is too much today
in tandem.

3.03.2018

Marital Marsh

The cork broke coming out
of the wine you sent me
for my birthday last week
though you knew
it's not my varietal
and I understood
why I sat here like a charlatan
waiting for your invitation.

It scares me that antibiotics
won't work when I get older.
Karma will claim me
long before
red meat has had its chance.

Next of kin are notified.
The table of contents is altered.
I think now, looking back:
Three years is long enough.

Darling, how are you?
Is this for what you've asked?
Only allowed to love you sometimes
I feel, I grope for a future.

3.02.2018

Corked Uncanny

It's been months
since he's been over
but he struts through my threshold
like Patton over the Rhine.
Not missing a chance to narrate
he describes what's new
and what's changed here
since his return.

At seven he's already
a master storyteller.
Entering the living room
he spots a foreign souvenir
stationed atop a bookshelf.
"I bought that for you on vacation
with mommy," he explains
while stroking the ship in a bottle--
visions of the Caribbean coursing
through his brain.

I grin and thank him again
for a gift that he can't understand yet
holding back a sermon
on other feats
that seem infeasible.