boom boom boom

Silence fell like an empty drum
banging echoes down the hall
to Please the cat and I and mum
(though she Cannot Hear at all)
Myself, my ears work well as ink
(that’s pretty well now, don’t you Think?)


Consigned to Fate? (Worst day of the year)

My arms are briar patches, little scratches everywhere,
An eggshell kind of fracture, unnatural and rare.
Small rivulets of blood, little inlets running red,
A stinging sharp exaction that can’t distract my stare:

For Mom

Ginny girl, you are my pearl, you are my pearl, you’re my Ginny girl!
The boy is back! The dad-bone-boy is back!
Ready to sign them paypas, paypas, paypas?
Sing praise to the Lord all ye righteous ones; praise is becoming to the upright!

She doesn’t whistle while she works; she sings
And when she’s cooking she stomps a beat,
Joy bursting from her hands and her feet–
Stirring up cabbage and other things.


A picture of perseverance
Nascent innocence
Natant in a sense
Evincing testaments

Happy Holidays

Noel Noel

‘Tis the season to
Wish you Merry Christmas
And Happy New Year!


A Small Sad Poem


Modified from a Todd Goldman book cover.

Things can always get a little worse:
Like that time we went to DC in the rain
And it was sixty-five degrees when we left, thirty-five when we arrived
And we bought one umbrella for the five of us,
Or that time I accidentally took the wrong bus
And had to walk three miles to get home
And a drunk lady threw up on me,
Or when I got sick myself
And missed the deadline for the term paper
And your birthday
And wrote a small sad poem.

Green Friday

While the hordes took to the urban sprawl,
Suburban war-zones and dangerous mall,
We fled to the country, a rural retreat–
Down back roads and dirt-paved street;
We stopped at a rustic wooded farm
And left with pine in supersacerdotal arm.

A Bushel and a Peck

Farm Life

We sat in the back of the pickup truck
Where the air felt crisp and cold and living;
At the top of the hill we jumped the gate–
The hinges groaned, but they stood forgiving
And the bull just grazed as we skirted by,
Not getting too close, just close enough
To leave some feed and a new salt lick
And a silly face, to prove we were tough.

The Ripple Effect

The music poured out of the piano in waves
Each one splashing louder on the damp floor
Flooding the basement
And filling our heads with rain
That pounded down the long sidewalks of our brains
Washing them white as snow.

Photo by Claire Anthony

Sunglasses Reduce Glare

I grew up with Mr. Rogers and his changing shoes
So I said hello and waved as you walked near
You, my longtime neighbor

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