Posts for June 5, 2026 (page 2)

Every other Thursday I take her
out to lunch, fold up her walker,  

order her food and get to hear again
how much she hates Trump, hate that man,  

all she has had to say for a year.
Days are spent watching MS NOW.  

They are like me!  They hate him too, 
she swears.  I am flooded with images  

of families enraged by grief, love,
loathing, wailing over bloodied bodies.  

Rows of shrouded civilians, bagged
soldiers.  Hate is poison, this is  

where it leads, I want to say. Can you
get back to decoupage?  To yoga?  

Truth is, no longer able to get out and march,
these are her comrades-in-arms, MS NOW.  

the house is quiet 
all but for the jingle of
the cat’s collar bell.

Everyone loves these beautiful trees
Climbing their ladders 
Reaching up for the sun

There’s nothing quite like
the green of their leaves
Bright and welcoming for the
Sake of the birds

Dull they may be to those who know them well
But to every newcomer
of every new tree
There’s a gentle, yet bold
Beauty to behold

Is it always
just going to be
this way, or
am I actively dying?

The hysterical woman
in me
finds that a rational
medical question.

And the answer could be C,
somewhere in between, but
I’d really like to know
in case

it B my very last choice.

To paint myself into
my own imagination 
I stare at the mirror
to catch sight of the stubble
I can only feel.

I’m in a state of wonder.
How have I come to be here?
Alone, but not lonely
I tell myself.
The chairs are my companions,
and I’m having an intimate affair
with the dining room table.

Brian, Helen & Dr. Hue
are all gone. Temporarily
they each in turn exclaimed.
I wonder.

Still I get out.
Mondays I sit in Felicitous Cafe.
The waitress looks like Penelope,
gives me the same goo-goo eyes.
Thursdays is for Lettuce Lake,
natural gem of inland Tampa Bay
where Brian & I romped around
with alligators and osprey.

Tonight I’ve caught a chill,
a little fever perhaps.
Another glance in the mirror,
a few sips of Brandy,
the yawns begin,
elusive sleep is near
until I’m struck 
by a lightning bolt of fact,
I’m a great-great grandfather.

The clouds are like fish mouths waiting for papery flakes,
pebbles in the shoe of the Almighty,
a flagstone path for commercial jets,
spilled contents of a disciplined piggy bank,
butter mints served on a pizza receipt, the ones I can never decide whether to chew or to savor

Sometimes when we are in a store
I like to meander away some distance 
So I can watch you, be You
The version that none of us get
On the regular day to day
When you think no one you know 
Is around or cares to look 
That will always be the You I crave.

Inspired by the painting A Child’s Dream of Parents with More Time by Mia Koch.

In the view of it all, there is nothing but
love, how can it be anything but love?
Child on the shoulders, excited, points
the birds soar in a bright blue sky,
two, a mated pair. Two holding hands.
Blue reflects the calmness of being
they shared, sacred moment in time
remembered by the ocean waves
and the reminiscence that comes
with growing up, loved,
how can you be anything but loved?

messes
 piles 
  organized
         kinda
generational baggage
    stuff 
things
   do the trinkets even matter?
i don’t want my kids to have to deal with it all
  stashed in closets
divided in hanging folders
    folded in drawers

where do i start?