While shopping the pharmacy at the grocery store
I turned the corner and came upon it:
The Great Wall of Gummies in all its glory
Vitamins A, B, C, D . . . well you know the alphabet
But I wasn’t aware of the more exotic –
Shameless snack gummies (Keto, of course)
Guava bat guano gummies (all organic)
Mr.Breast Karl gummies (low sugar, no breasts)
All shaped like bears and zebras and nerds, oh my!
And the sign – Coming Soon
Red white and blue 4th of July gummies
Spicy enough to set off fireworks in your mouth
Stuck in an apartment or no place to grill?
Steak juice gummies with a hint of parsley
Charred zucchini gummies for the vegans
Can’t get to the state fair this summer?
Cotton candy gummies and fried pickle gummies
Fun balloon shapes for the kiddies
Just think of the dazzling future – no dishes to wash
No meals to plan, no fuss or mess
(Sigh) The American Dream has turned squishy

How are you?

I miss you. A lot.

I wish you were here to get the new you in check. Maybe you’re still in there somewhere.

I need you right now though.

I was thinking the other day about how excited I used to be when you got home.

How sad I was when you’d leave.

I hate how that’s gone now.

I miss you. I hope you’re still around.

I love you.

A letter to the dad you used to be

A letter to the father you’ll never become

How my father answered the phone
at our market on the corner of Cincinnati’s
two busy streets. In a photo he stands
Samson-like, hand on the pole holding up
the building’s corner,
                                       in his grocer’s apron
(Mom made me a miniature version),
ready to chop on the rough wooden block
behind the meat counter—
an ancient artifact brought
from a Sumerian temple—
where he was high priest of butchers. 

Here I learned the trade I would
never follow, instead living-lessons—
early to open always,
meeting customer’s needs,
friendly to all,
selling something of everything—
and how to make change
                     counting
backwards,
a lost skill today.

Perhaps the best tribute to a father
came years later in the seminary from Br. Ricardo,
who admitted stealing candy from my dad:
When someone asked,
“Did you ever pay Mr. Friedman back?”
“Hell,” he answered,
“I’m living with his kid!”

The ants came out on the second day.
And the leaky faucet.

The windows without screens.

A lack of three-prong outlets in the kitchen,
where they’re needed, and their excess
in closets where they’re not.

The creak in the floorboards.
This loose door handle.
That lock that won’t stay set.

The shy shower with its brave attempt
at “on.”

Window sashes slamming shut, hung on ropes
that gave up the ghost five tenants ago.

But what’s a girl to do?

By then, you’d already called me baby.
It was love at first walk-through.

I am here to stay.

Sunlight drips over
horizon lines like honey,
warm, viscous, golden, 

sweet as Earl Grey and
as bright as it seeps into 
verdure, then the world. 

train whistle
a plane crosses Jupiter
it’s five below 0

we who have
slept on the hitch-
hike road

in packing crates
            under bridges
in torrential rain

now

watch from the window

snow fall
           ice world
going nowhere

together

     nurse brings warm blankets
doors slide open   IV stings
                          we are still waiting

I remember driving north from San Diego.
West of the highway, flames framed the ridge.
The wind blew from the sea
and we could breathe.   

I remember hearing gunshots
and reading about the fight. 
But we were the next block over,
in our backyard with friends.  

I remember walking in my neighborhood.
Hard voices hurtled out windows into the night.
The houses looked all alike.
I walked on believing it was not my home.  

And now Canada, pristine and pardoned,
roars in forked tongues that lick the sky
spits knives to our lungs, spues smoke
that rises to the atmosphere and spreads
like oil on water, touching everything
from the Atlantic to the Mississippi.  

Was she tired of our polite pontification,
of our cocoon of sanctity that we are unconquerable?

I’m staying in the house til the sun goes down
and the lights turn on in this one horse town
when the lightning bugs all fly around 
my burned yet pallid face.

I’m staying in the house so the moon can rise
and reflect her glow in my wondering eyes
while the backyard elves all plot surprise
for a morning dew of lace.

I’m staying in the house til the leaves all turn
and there’s no more lessons left to learn
and the road leads home where I always yearn
for a different kind of pace.

I’m staying in the house til I can’t hold still
and I crack the door of my own free will 
and find the morning waiting still 
in patient, peaceful grace.