The thoughts came,
Along with the feelings,
But with no accompanying images.
There were images, though,
And they often triggered thoughts and feelings,
But that was different.
The sightless thoughts and feelings were a mystery,
But the unrelated images were obvious.
Why was that?
their lavender edges
fading to the most delicate green
summer can imagine
Do not mistake
My softness
For vulnerability
I am showing you
Parts of me
Carefully curated
For your enjoyment
My femininity
Will ooze through
Your fingers
If I deem you
Worthy
Oh, little town of Freedom,
home of the Apple Festival!
only no one can remember
what exactly happened to the last local orchard,
but you can buy Michigan apples in pecks from the Mennonites or
a caramel apple for eight bucks,
wrap-around sunglasses, a hunting knife,
a lemonade shake-up (dry county)
a few years ago
a recruit fresh from boot camp
bought a rainbow flag
from the purple-haired vendor (neighboring county)
then burned it in the parking lot of City Hall
near the replica of the Liberty Bell
the local weekly
chose not to publish any pictures of the flag in flames,
but fair-haired Miss Casey County
and the state’s largest apple pie
sold more papers
This judge was only reversed once in 20 years.
Jury Instructions
Not a one of them smiled when
The dreaded summons came.
Drug their feet and shuffled in,
Mad as hell like the fabled hen.
Drawn from the wheel, just
Plain bad luck they deemed.
Inconvenient demand on time
And trouble for them it seemed.
Judge smiled and said his piece.
Duty here is a blessed gift, little
We ever do to earn or deserve
Our place in this blessed world.
Seldom is your chance to serve
Our nation, best on all this earth.
Pay your taxes, obey the laws,
Jury duty to judge or find just cause.
Some uniformed youth go to war,
But most of us sidle by scot free.
This court, so few days, scarce rare path
To give back for all your liberty.
No excuses are countenanced this day,
Teachers however can choose to go or stay.
There’s no substitute for a good teacher
Be it merchant, miner or Sunday preacher.
All the rest welcome, you’ll hear, ponder,
Test to find the truth of guilt or innocence.
Few there were who did not feel shamed
To feeling somewhat or duly righteous.
Judge’s court rarely crossed, never blamed
Proceeds with duty, honor, within the law.
Brag they would in days to come of service
In this man’s court. It mattered not to them
That the order first was met with curses.
All’s well that ends well, justice reimburses.
Order in the Court.
You’re the best lover I never had.
It’s so hard to forget what never happened between us.
It’s so hard to live with these regrets.
I miss the arms that never held me.
I miss the lips I never kissed.
I miss not being yours.
And I go back to you in my dreams.
I miss the way you never touched me
and the sweet way you never gazed at me.
I miss those romantic dates you never took me on
and the passionate way we never made love afterwards.
I miss the secrets we never shared.
I miss the nights we never shared.
And all the stars we never gazed at together.
I miss all the plans we never made.
I miss the pet names you never gave me.
I miss all the beautiful things you never said to me.
I miss the special way you never made me feel.
I miss you, baby.
And there’s no way to tell you anymore.
I miss you and everything we never had.
*This is a nightmare I had several years ago. Unfortunately, I am a vivid dreamer and I experienced all of the physical sensations of my execution.
The lights overhead
wash the color from the walls
utility seafoam green
fades to a faint pastel
under the glare
The room is sterile
devoid of creature comforts
white drop tile ceiling grid
tufts of grey-brown dust
cling precariously to its surface
The window to the theater
reveals pale, grim faces
eyes narrowed with bloodlust
unforgiving in their stares
rightfully so, I assume
I don’t know why I’m here
strapped to a cold gurney
my arms and legs secured
to allow no movement
only my head remains free
I look up to serious eyes
the face dour but respectful
an expression that signifies
that they hate their job
but it pays the bills
My bed is parked full frontal
the faces behind the window
are watching every move
my heart is pounding
until my pulse floods my ears
I am paralyzed with fear
my mouth gaping open
my breath ragged and shallow
my eyes bulging from their sockets
as I watch them enter the room
They are cold, clinical, efficient
in official scrubs and jackets
instruments at the ready
on a stainless table nearby
one checks the files and nods
Silence, they say no more
and insert the IVs into my arms
time compresses to stillness
as the burn of the Pentobarbital
fades me to black
