Posts for June 11, 2022 (page 4)

The old women in the shoe?
“Git outta my shoe!” she cried
You see she was kinda crabby

Could be all those children
Some say she fostered nine
Others say close to 28  

Hard tellin’ really
She had this High-top Converse
Converted to a house

Somewhere’s up on the East side
Corrugated metal kept out the rain
From comin’ in the top

Whenever it rained
Man you shoulda’ heard that roof sing
Though sometimes you could hardly think

There was this little door
Cut into the heel
That’s where she might greet you  

So long as you brought bread,
You could listen and understand
And could lend a helpin’ hand

Or you open a cabinet door 

& pull out the keebler elf

or you go to the back yard & scream

or you open a bottle of wine

or you dance like you’re crazy

& sing loud as possible

or you get on your knees 

& pull crab grass

or you call a friend,

& be a friend 

to yourself. 

Birds sing,
insects buzz,
tree frogs call,

the woodpecker drums in the distance.

Sounds older than me,
older than all of us.
The universe exhales.

The burden of humanity weighs more each day.

The burden of knowing
what we hand our kids,
suffocating.

There is a certain kind of poetry
in a good lie. Just ask
the mockingbird that sounds
like a mail truck backing up.
Ask the walking-stick bug
alit on the forsythia.
                                      I make up
stuff for a living. I make up
a living, here with you, and I guess
there has always been a certain
kind of poetry in that, too.

abandoned boardwalk
white paper-like blossoms
open in the dunes

tide comes in
a whisper under
gray sky chanting

a last psalm with the old
woman an offering for
this day’s journey

scrambling over boulders
taller than my father 
scraping knees
and ripping the soles of my feet to shreds 
I started to wonder when I’d 
stop
adventuring
when I’d give into the voice that has started to whisper 
stop
before the broken nails and buggered shins 
before the exploration 
and before the discovery of the unknown 

I have this secret plan of us, laughing
I am sitting here in this ridiculous human world in my 
Tinfoil hat and You
—amongst the Whole. Damn. Galaxy.—are
Wearing Yours
we look so stupid but my 
hand is on Your chest and Your
hand is on my back and
we are laughing so
Hard 

…

we used to end every one of our terrible jokes with
“don’t ever leave me”

I am taking it on faith that the Universe honors promises and punchlines
at least as often as it takes jabs.

But the Universe knows, the secret to great comedy is—

fourteen paned window
separates me from the world
beaten down by summer suns
red corvette
fly me away 
screaming legs and hunger pains 
feeble dirty tennis shoes
twelve quarters jangle in my pocket
red sunset
tell me goodnight

Why
world?
My
girl  

loves
creeps.
Loves
cheats.  

He’s
wrong.
Be
strong.  

Wake up.
Break up.  

*my son was jealous I got to share my poetry, so I promised to share one of his. 

My favorite thing about life