More than a Grocery List

                         More Than a Grocery List

Fruit, because it’s so lovely you can paint it

Rubber gloves, because life, at times, requires a barrier from you and it

Orange Juice, because oranges grow in a sunny place and Winter is heavy upon us

Tofu because if you don’t drink wine anymore, what’s the point of cheese?

Pears, because they behold Winter and remind us to celebrate womanly shapes

A fire log because if you’re squirrely indoors, it helps to recreate early man and the discovery of your own quiet ingenuity

White Roses, because it’s been a while since someone bought you any, and your spouse sees a BLT the same way

Roasted Chicken, so you can dice it into a pie crust, toss it into a white sauce and pretend you cooked today rather than wrote poetry


Tainted Soul

The light in her eyes

Was there,

But was as ineffectual

As an upturned umbrella,

Her reality saturated

By whatever had happened to her.

She had a rigid distrust

Like a lone survivor,

Wrong place, wrong time,

Rattled by the very air

That filled her lungs,

The very breeze that dimpled

Her perpetually cold skin

Guarded heavy eyes,

Posture like a rescue animal,

Peering into the world

she didn’t know.

She became the bank teller

Who anticipated her fate;

Well before the masked man

Approached her window;

I wish it had been different

Lying Inside

The sly child works life over….

On the wrong day, you don’t wanna be in the ring.

The blows are at you, and about him.

The perspiration is evidence of an overheated mind.

He is perceived to be taking deliberate jabs

But he is paradoxically foolish,

two faced and fools even himself.

Left hook,

Upper cut, uppercut, jab….  prancing like an athlete

he is bogged down with un-harvested tears;

a levy waiting to break

a need as basic as his tears

and as acidic as his loathsome thoughts,

as commonplace as his morning eggs and toast.

Does the masochist avoid the mirror, toothbrush readied, 

while he scours the flesh

from his gums?

Like an addict and his pills

there was never time for pain

only time for a reprieve from life;

the threat of pain.

Like a suicide bomber he ascribes

to his false hope like the fighter and the addict

but never fully deactivates the roots

Deadly nightshade is, after-all, edible?




At 14 he told the same joke

Again, and again needing you

To laugh,

At sixteen she pleaded for you to love her

The way they love in books

Dedicated, like a Norwegian’s

Love for his lutefisk,

I wish I had learned to savor the goodness

To look the recurring nightmare in the eye

The good the wine has taught me Wins;

Lips visibly stained like a prostitute

The fourth glass was never the same as the first

Like a joke told one too many times


Imagine Away the Hole

How I arrived at the Kennel is a mystery.

Perhaps like a lush arrives at the bottle’s end,

I was looking for something.

Biscuit, I would name her,

for her toasty almost white fur.

One precocious lab stared me down hard,

Watching me as deliberate as a prison gaurd

but with longing, chocolatey warm eyes.

She couldn’t t know my childhood pooch died in my arms?

if she were a song playing endlessly I would hear “I want you to want me”

like a record skipping, her eyes asking if she could be the one

to make me trust love again.

I preferred the fictitious lives,

whose pages comforted me always,

The ones that lined my dusty shelves,

Encounters, if too stirring, I could abruptly set down

My friends, Daphne, Saul, Edith and D.H. would never leave me

Cause even when they died, I could see them again,

If I so chose.