puddles
tiny brown feet
splashing in the sky
rain puddle
sun in a puddle
the light bends pink
orange and red
after the puddle
our eyes see spots
purple pulse
Perfect balance of sweet and salt
hot butter dripping down to my elbows
favorite taste of summer
succulent corn on the cob
My beds unmade
My dishes ain’t clean
The cats are jumping
On the washing machine
My sink done broke
The weeds are high
My lawn needs mowin
And the well went dry
My basements flooded
The car broke down
My tires went flat
My water turned brown
My zipper got stuck
My pants got tore
A button fell off
There ain’t no more
What are those little seeds called?
You know the ones that grab on, go with you?
Oh, yes. Stick-tites. Triangles hobos. Nuisances.
Of late, I recognize other sticky bums,
Diabetes, cataracts, neuropathy, Parkinson’s,
Tinitus, arthritis, hypertension, osteo.
These annoyances cling despite rejection
Or picking at or wishing or washing away.
Aging stick-tites attached to test our mettle.
Since you won’t out and out kill me,
And since there seems to be no cure,
Welcome, hang on, we’ll ride it out together.
K. Bruce Florence
My father and I
both feel sick in crowded rooms
because if there was a fire
people might not behave rationally
My father and I
both cry when children sing
because it reminds us
of when singing was only made of joy
My father and I
both are proud of our hooked noses
because they evoke majesty
just a little bit royal
My father and I
both love each other
because we are the same
but not quite so
I find a strange comfort
in the smell of cigarette smoke
and a lingering storm.
The young man with the cigarette
crouched on the concrete
nervously watching the clouds roll in.
With a sigh, he puts out he cigarette,
and stands. Wiping his hands
on a filthy apron, getting back to work.
When its spring is on the cusp of summer,
I begin to feel some sort of meloncholia-
longing for every season to feel like summer.
The occasional breeze is treasured,
Vitamin D is in our skin and transparent in our laugh,
I take more risks and now here’s you.
I want to feel you, every season.
But especially summer,
when sweat are droplets of how we feel.
I know
You have laughed at his wit
Have you
Seen into his fierce soul
I know
You have marveled at his height
Have you
Seen him weep for a friend
I know
You have watched his hands cradle his viola
Have you
Seen his tenderness with the frail
I know
You are holding his hand
Have you
Seen him
Always keep your line in the water.
Live bait works because it’s already real.
Better to learn how to bring your lure to life.
