Posts for June 3, 2026 (page 7)

blink 182 sings let’s make this last forever
but my beer’s half gone in this neighborhood  bar
where the veggie burger is fine
and the fries are better

i’ve closed out my tab already
but my beer’s half gone in this neighborhood bar
an acquaintance sits one table away
but we don’t talk because it’s a general acquaintance

i had so many options this morning
and they all led me to this dive
where the veggie burger is fine
i should’ve opted for dinner with friends

last week we all went to a sports bar
after praying the students would graduate quietly
i ate one of the few real burgers i’ll eat all year
and the fries were better

blink 182 sings let’s make this last forever 
i’ve closed out my tab already 
an acquaintance sits one table away 
i should’ve opted for dinner with friends

“and so castles made of sand, melt into the sea, eventually”
—Jimi Hendrix 

You are a sand castle
on the edge of the Atlantic,
“your wilderness,”
you told me. 

This ocean has watched you 

grow into a man
who loves to fish,
fill his pockets with shells,
hold up a shark tooth
like buried treasure, 

bring his own boys
to learn the contours
of the beach.

Each day is a wave.

Every hour
the tide rises.

First, your hair—
you pulled gray beard
out with a pinch
and showed me.

Then the pounds
vanished beneath work clothes,
taking your blue-collar bulk.

The tide keeps coming.

Then muscle,
the moat around the castle,
began to wash away.

The Atlantic still remembers you

casting your line into dawn,
bent over the surf,
watching footprints blur
with each pass  

looking for what it took
and left behind.

                                          the evening,      the sun

            saying        farewell                                                             
                                                                                 sharp
          as a knife’s edge           swims
                                                                      in        darkness,
                                                                            the moon
                                     a comfort
                                                                                  she could
                                sink                                 her body

                                           around                               Terror

                                                  thrashes

hard  and          soft 
                                                                            lulled by the 
                    forever
crawl,                                the           wet certainty of
                sleep,         a damp heap.       

~ An erasure of page 12 in Sarah Freeman’s novel Tides   

Summer always started with
humidity rolling off the blacktop
in invisible waves we splashed through
to get to the yellow school bus.
Counted checked and loaded
the lanky teen turned on his transistor
and we became the band on the run
towards day camp.

Gathered in whispered awe
around the counselor,
That tinny crackling radio taught
us little yard apes more than John
Jacob and his fellow camp songs
ever did. We learned to rock the boat.
We figured that Billy shouldn’t
have had to be a hero. We heard
the cries of the night Chicago died,
and Rikki didn’t lose the number.

Hot dogs, potato sack races,
swimming, and other camp
activities were endured, an enforced
hiatus between the musical bus ride.

In retrospect, I always learned more
from artists than organized activities.

Ebony spider
cerulean dentition
welcome companion

You see that a person is considered righteous by what they do and not by faith alone.

If someone on the street has the courage to beg you for money,
you should have the courage to give it to them. 

To Raymond Rivoal and George K. Mullins

Eighty-two years since the orphan
became the unit’s mascot.
Eighty-one since the soldier saw the boy
rise to the occasion.

Two old men in plain sight
for the flag-waving youth.
One stands by the other’s wheelchair,
bent in reunion.

Tears and stories stream.
My boy, says the elder
My friend, cries the younger
Keep the line moving,

begs the voice
overlooking the joy
unfolding, humans
connecting

genuine grief and gushing
guilt over friendly-bombs
and flattened
family units.

Eighty-two years
and now
three generations
rushing hugs

while the timekeeper misses out.

A sign on the door 
of the mom-and-pop sandwich shop:
“Thank you for 31 years of business!
This location is now closed.”

The facade crumbles
for months afterwards.

There now sits a
luxury apartment complex.
A sign on the door:
For Rent.

It is never taken down.

(watch how fast the secondhand moves, once you know it’s counting down)

everyone is small in a hospital bed
tucked beneath coarse bleached blankets
cotton
used and used and used beyond all softness

her cheek is the pale of poplar ash
or clouded sky, hands limp 
marionettes
with IV pump strings

a woman who raised a strong son,
who is now a fine man, who was herself 
Flint
She made fire, She made hearth, She was Home

the one who Towered, and Sheltered, and Thundered
lost now to the aching stillness of a forest broken after a storm
sleeping
in anesthetized haze; old blade broken beyond reshaping

tomorrow will come, and she will be in it 
evaporating slow as a salt pool
stranded
by a reckless tide

tomorrow will come, and she will be fading,
Lioness spent, life still hot in her teeth, until the very last
ember
exhales 
 

Hospitals can be scary
when you’re the one going in,
it’s also very scary when you
have to send a friend.

Not knowing her name
the day or year,
with her head cocked to the side
stroke was what I feared.

Emergency rooms were filled
so the hallway she was kept,
still incoherent and HIPPA rights
not being met.

Calling her family
who lives hundreds of miles away,
was a little overwhelming
not sure what to relay.

Did not want to scare them,
or cause them much alarm,
I tried to soften the blow
when I told she fell causing harm.

They took the news well,
comforted that I was here,
felt even more relief
when I told them to her I live near.

My friend is breathing heavily,
and sounds so hard to bear,
Im’ going to be by her side daily
cuz, that’s how much I care.

There haven’t been many doctors
that have come to check in,
I’m getting quite concerned,
because this sick person is my friend.

I’ve prayed and asked
some of my friends to pray too,
God answered one prayer for me,
that a stroke was out ruled.

My faith is strong that she 
will soon be ready to go,
her every move after she gets home,
I told her I must know.

At least the first week
I want to make sure she’s safe,
even if it means twice a day,
I have to walk to her place.

The sad thing about this is that
her birthday is today,
we had made plans for her
and it wasn’t to spend it this way.

Her spirits have lifted
and her sassiness is coming back,
 I can tell she’s coming around
because humor she no longer lacks.

I’m ending this for the day
for dinner she just ate,
I can get ready to leave,
she’s in a better state.

My friend I love,
with my heart and my spirit,
when she gets all better,
boy, will I let her hear it.

Good night Bonnie,
rest well tonight,
I’ll be back in the morning
before it turns daylight.