We sat on South Bayly, on a beautiful summer evening
In the presence of creative-non-fiction genius.
Our local bookstore, one of the few remaining greats, 
Delivered in spades to bring us his relevant and quick-witted humor.

Sedaris, Oh captain my captain, Harbinger of Pure Joy,
Your ponderings, and quirky stringing together of prose
To paint fascinating images of ordinary things,
Ignite my desire to see and hear with your curiosity.

For decades you have drawn me beyond
My prosaic imprints of happenings in my world
To examine the phrase less traveled, the quizzical truth
Finding the eternally interesting route, rejecting the mundane.

Between gut-tightening guffaws, bringing tears to my eyes
And light bulb moment epiphanies of shared human experiences,
I marveled at your ease in rendering your weird, sometimes bawdy
Encounters to our everyday engagement in the richness of this life.

Will I ever be able to see the world as you do?
Will I ever be observant enough to perceive life’s oddities?
Will I ever be clever enough to magically transform them?
Will I ever be brave enough to deliver them to the page?

We left you to dine at a Frankfort Ave restaurant
Known for its fabulous food, al fresco dining, and coach’s sexcapades.
Seated near the entrance, we had access to eavesdropping on
Diners conversations as they entered and were seated.

In walks the “Wensleydales”, patriarch Charles, matriarch, Margaret
And, Jackie- O bobbed daughter, Rebecca, resplendent in diamonds.
Greeted by name they were seated at their usual window table in the corner,
Close enough that we continued to share in their conversation and their perfume.

When asked by the waiter if they would like to try a seasonal spritz,
Rebecca inquired “Do you have something with little to no color?”
Bewildered, the server responded with a list of potentially drab offerings
Unclear if any would meet the desired description of being “colorless”.

We waited with bated breath to see where this was going…
Her linen dress was navy so we supposed spillage was not the fear.
“She just had her teeth whitened”, Charles offered, to bring things full circle.
“Perhaps just a glass of Proseco”

Oh David, what you could have done with this one…

thing about people we lose
we still love them when they’re lost

it’s not that we mourn them
we just still love them when they’re lost

Beautiful morning
full of possibility
including baseball

I finished my to-do list, it’s 9 a.m.
What now? The hours loom before me,
an endless stretch of open road
no signposts, no direction.

Just silence and empty moments stripped
of barking, no sighing but my own.
In earlier times, I wished for quiet,
praised the God of stillness,

longed for a single untouched hour.
The kids were dunking basketballs
and screeching their hurrahs,
the dogs barked at every passerby.

Now I stand in the aftermath—
an emptied nest, no wings stirring,
no small lives brushing against mine,
only my own thoughts and the stir of memory

I never imagined my life past what was 5 feet in front of me

Now you’ve got me singing a different tune

Wishing on stars

Looking for you at every turn

I watched you washing my hair in our kitchen sink

I looked in your eyes, watching them sparkle and realized

I’ve never loved you more than I do right now

Or when I say something stupid

Not just because of what you do for me

Because you always

Always

Come back

With nine people in one House, eventually, we are going to need a plunger, the “discussions” get intense, and the first aid kit will be required, good food, and mostly good times had by all.

Fog over lake a smokey shadow

and no rain,

only blue skies forecasted

give me words that set
my hair ablaze and my soul
aching for more poems

Like            all republics
it can’t                 be kept
its great              flowers
shriveling         beneath
the heated mob        do-
ing the dictator’s deeds

Like  all           republics
it         survives   under-
ground      its insurgent
network  of roots   kept
safe by   secrecy-sworn
soil awaiting liberating
rains      time to  rise up

making again   my gar-
den bed  safe  (enough)
for    floral   democracy
free   from    the weeds
of     discord    and fake
fertilizers        The hose
tap at last  is turned off 

She is trying to write but the words are not there
not today anyway
funny thing she thought 
last night when she rested her weary head on the  pillow
tried to find sleep
forget counting sheep
all she saw everywhere were thousands of unruly words
floating thoughts that could not be caught
swimming like a school of fish in her head
escaping any organization as they swiflty floated often into the ocean 
of her dreams.