haiku 08
in the parking lot
another problem tackled
on to the next task
They’ve grown old next to each other on this landscape, so that, at first glance, there’s little to distinguish between them, touching as strong lovers do when they’ve become easy friends as well. Their hard-taught expressions across the fields they’ve overseen so long are as identical as the weather‘s wear on their faces, lined beyond recall. When seen closer, he’s just that much taller, smokes, needs glasses, leans to his left while she has a more pronounced list to her right. Either could easily be a slight bit younger, an addition to the other, but which is no matter. Another angry sky masses its many gray forces over the lake behind, but that only means another turn in the cycle to take in stride together.
My dad’s death hit me
like a sudden, howling wind.
I was a sapling ripped
from the ground, roots
dangling. My mom,
true to her nature, refused
to be bent, and left me
to right myself.
You can’t just fall to pieces.
She wouldn’t look back.
I couldn’t see forward.
That’s when daddy began
to slip into my dreams. I would
run to him, he would
scoop me up. That joy! That
deliverance from grief. Awake
I was as much a ghost as he was,
waiting for him
to walk in the door and ask,
Where’s my little Kit?
And where was I?
Spoiled indoor cats
or cats basking in the weeds
behind Wheeler’s Pharmacy
or reconnoitering neighborhood cats:
these I think I recognize.
But Vinnie, our longtime outdoor cat,
uses our ginkgo for a scratching post
drinks from our gutters
sleeps under the canopy of our black gum
ignores the scurry of squirrels under the birdfeeder.
When we’re on the porch, he settles on the steps
on the other side of the screen.
When we’re away, he positions himself
in the middle of the driveway.
When he’s inside, he pretends he doesn’t
see our indoor cats.
When it’s below zero, he deigns to spend
a three-cat night on our son’s bed,
leaving the next morning
without a word.
From the top of the garage,
he surveys what lies beyond.
He doesn’t leave.
What I was, I’m not
All that past, just plot
A story so passe
I wonder to this day
Who that was…
If they were born in heart fires
Not the smelt work of magma chambers
Or the wringing weight of ocean waters
If they lasted as long as a peck
Or at most as long as the two hours
Spent on a couch at fifteen
Would our walking always be on air
Each step be a smack that bouyed us along
Would each stone hurled turn into air
In mid-flight, turn into the softness of lips
There is a lie in the premise
The hope that all kisses given are pure
That lips aren’t also sharp as betrayal
culture’s arrogant
intrusion on the temperamental
apparatus/architecture of amygdala-limbic-rhinencephalic
dinner is a dangerous time for guests
unknown commodities
manipulation for capital gains
anything in motion can run off the rails
I saw a man nearly choke to death
on a yellow fin tuna heart
cut fresh from the still flapping fish
swallowed whole
define irony
no not Lynyrd Skynyrd
life sucked out by the myth of power and vitality
life that occupies the polarized spin
of that particular particulate curve ball
moment of time-space
but you are not allowed to say time-space
unless you can give
a cogent
three paragraph summary
of the general theory of relativity
the bosses wife may begin to cautiously
talk about sex
as early as the sorbet after fish
don’t waste your time describing a daring vacation
on a restored three master
the race is on right here at the dinner table
you either spit the bit
or run with it
I hide behind neon LEDs and Strobe lights
Hoping that there’s enough fluorescence to shield me.
I escaped being crushed
by a sea of arms that just don’t care.
Became an expert at slinking
through less than sober strangers.
I’ve forged a home in the rhythm of muffled bass
booming through bathroom walls.
I’ve found comfort in dancing
where literally no one is watching.
Swaying my hips with a smiling certainty
That comfort and contentment
can be found away from a crowd
And enjoyed all the same.
The minister says I’m alive
Through grace says
They may never know
What rendered me silent
He tells them to pray
The spirit gives several messages
In other tongues
They shout
Praise the Lord
The women place a Bible
Under my pillow I dream
My voice returns
I point to the minister
But no one listens.
