4.
hidden there in plain sight
among the pollen and dust
reflected as the sun shines bright
boxed in old vanities
under gathered cobwebs
was proof of my insanity
Donald molests your daughter, but you won’t
complain – boys will be boys – and he’s strong,
a real straight-shooter, telling it like it is,
marshalling inexpressible fears like lining up
ducks in a shooting gallery.
Bang!
He hands you
a Teddy Bear prize worth less than the piss
air-drying on truth’s sallow face, but you won,
and your daughter will get over it, she’ll sign
the non-disclosure agreement.
Insanity’s when
the First Amendment gets in bed with the Second
Amendment, becomes brass knuckles, becomes
White Jesus in camo, and Fox News sings:
You don’t have to be PC anymore!
You don’t have to hide your enemies list!
Amid the calls of the cicadas
and bursts of airplanes overhead,
a spring breeze sings through my hair.
As it flits along my eyelashes
and capers about my dress,
a symphony of birdsong stains the air.
I fly a hand into the balmy atmosphere,
perhaps to steal these sensations or sounds,
but my fingers grasp nothing, save wind.
She unzips her skin
Hangs it on the hook
by the door
Writes a note on the chalkboard
Be sure to wear the
thicker one tomorrow
the sustenance
of a two-year-old champion
mini-golf player
instinctively knocking
that yellow, dimpled ball
into the same hole
over and over again
with distinct determination
and joy
in the accomplishment
manifested
in a smile
so bright and ecstatic
that it can’t help but be
eternally infectious.
who wants to come to the store with me?
me, daddy! i want to!
i’d hold the 2 liter with both hands
craddling it like a precious newborn
we’d scavenge for
pretzels and chips and popsicles
pink panther reruns and
tom and jerry marathons
put the lights on for me, daddy!
blue and red, i still see it with closed eyes
rusted wedding rings and slashes through
family albums
i’ll always love you
yeah
that’s what they all say
My daughter thinks hawks are loved ones
come back to protect her and who knows,
maybe someday I’ll be soaring high above
the tall trees, looking down, but today we’re
walking together in the park and as we pass
the glistening magnolia and holly trees, I
do not say that’s what I wanted to plant
for the twins until the idea was vetoed
as too messy. And I feel good about
holding back, not treading on hurtful ground,
practicing for next time, and for the time
after that, until I grow closer to the goodness
I can only imagine.
