Posts for June 17, 2026 (page 5)

6 dollar sushi wednesdays

movie nights in bed

going to rebecca’s house

and public libraries

see i could get used to this

learn to love this lifetime

but a plane ticket in my name

a man threatens to ruin all

The first sermon I hear
Pierces straight to my heart,
I know I need to hear more from you
                                                                    -and you from me-
On the odds you have the answers I seek.

The pain I speak weighs on me invisible:
A burden I have carried for years,
No time for rest,
No break to understand it,
Just a constant whirlpool of feelings
Dragging me down, down

But you understand it,
Which means I have a chance.
Combined, we have lost enough people in five years
To fill a family tree.
We share what we know,
Sitting in the ashes together when that’s all the strength we have.

One year later I bring more to share,
As life continues, death follows but so do you,
Every step of the way, you have patience for the pain,
And I begin to see the blessings it bears.

When it will end is not for us to know,
But we are finding answers to our whys along the way.
So perhaps these wounds aren’t wasted,
If we can find wisdom through them.

We had talked before
The custodian and I
There was a son in the military
Something about an injury
How was he doing?

“He started in nursing and realized he’d rather be a doctor.”
“Did he have an injury?” I asked.
Alfredo motions to his legs, touching just below his hips.
“He has prosthetic, both legs…
Baghdad, he was in Baghdad.”

We can heal together
Under Alfredo’s Sun

You are not my co-pilot.

Neither are you my navigator,
my mission control, nor my ground crew
preparing me for take-off, nor are you
my flight attendant anticipating
my every need, and please do not go
anywhere near baggage claim.
I can handle it myself.  

You are not my co-pilot.

You are, however, the passenger who
never stops talking, the whiny child who
just won’t settle down, the snorer who
snorts in seat 22B, and the seatmate who
insists on reading my palm. You are
the barf bag, the plastic-coated safety directions
no one wants to read. You are
nothing but a pest, pretending
to know what’s good for me.  

In glass dreams I go
    wandering—you wait for me
with a mother’s hand

If there’s anything working the produce truck has taught me,
it’s that proper self-care means learning how to recognize
moments when it’s time to hang up your mask and cape
or, in my case, the jacket and gloves.

Six pallets still sit on the truck waiting
to be broken down and sorted
but not one more box will go into our cooler–
at least, not by my hand.

I’ll be clocked out and sitting in the pub
drinking to whoever’s finishing the job for me,
untrained on the power pallet jack and
having to move everything by hand and muscle.

Of course, the job would have been done
if certain other roles had been executed at optimal capabilities.
Forgive me for thinking a finite space could stand
as irrefutable logic for what can and cannot fit.

I hate that I have to waste words on this, but two minus zero
equals two fifty-pound cases to FIFO-rotate onto two new cases
just so four cases can still be sitting here
when the next truck comes and the product still hasn’t sold.

I’m getting kind of sick of this and I’m really fucking tired.

And that’s when mistakes happen. I’ve already
had a couple beers at the bar–what’s another couple?
I’ll DoorDash again when I desperately need to save money.
I’ll turn on the TV and waste the whole night away, escaping
just to come back in tomorrow to deal with the same shit,
different day way that everybody seems to approach life with
so it’s no wonder to me when eventually 
Superman doesn’t want to fly anymore.

So how about we find a way to put our feet on the ground
before we crash, eh?

Woe to he who doesn’t learn from his errors!
Woe to he who mistakes himself as being on top!
Woe to he who lets himself become
the fool the wise man learns from!

Let’s instead search for opportunities to lighten another’s load.
Let’s adopt a mindset of constant self-improval.
Let’s commit to finding someone to save in a world
that loves to say no one’s coming to save you

because that job
is never finished.

Because I’m not actually drunk right now
but another man’s in a stupor.
Because I have a stocked fridge
but another man’s eating out for the fourth time this week.
Because I’m not lost in phone, TV, or computer screens
but another man’s life is on it’s latest spiral down.

Rather, I’m sitting at home
able to rest
because I chose myself today

putting pen to paper
to craft 
more poetry for failures

hopefully shining a light on ways
to get out of bad situations
within my tiny sliver of the world.

And I can’t do my part
if I’m worn out before I get there.

    “A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service
    and compassion are the things which renew humanity.”
            –Buddha

Softball fields remain.

The steward has left the game.

His kind heart echoes.