"Sign of the Times"

You made it
back to your apartment.

Roof torn off.
Night sky peeking in.

You strip
and lay on your wet mattress.

Counting your cuts and bumps,
realizing you're better off than most.

Don’t Be Grim, Mr. Reaper


Mr. Reaper, sorry to interrupt you at the hospice doorway, 
but I’m seventy-eight and before it’s too late, I’d like to say
you need the cunning of my illustrious P.R. career
to create an image that doesn’t make mortals tremble with fear.
Look in a mirror at your skeletal self. Is this your preference?
I used to spin corporate maleficence into acts of beneficence,
so I don’t think it’s grievous folly
to want to re-brand you from Grim to Jolly?
Not to distress you with body dysmorphia disorder,
but wouldn’t flesh on your bones diminish your horror,
and what about a blue cape instead of a black shroud,
and a brown skimmer hat with a ribbon to make you proud?
Banish your steed to the glue factory, ride a melodious motorbike,
ditch the blood-dripping scythe. Who wants to appear ghostlike?
Play a jaunty tune on an accordion, dance into a sickroom, 
spread toe-tapping joy instead of thunder-clapping doom.
To the beat of the “Beer Barrel Polka,” harvest their dear souls, 
pose for selfies, leave them laughing until their bell tolls.
Wait! Please don’t wag your bony finger at me, Mr. Reaper!
It’s not my turn to be a rotting eternal sleeper.
Even if you hate my glorious marketing plan,
can’t you at least grab me with a velvet-gloved hand?

There’s a Divine Dance (and We’re in It)

There’s a divine dance and we're in it. We might as well sing along, forgive, set free the bothers,the bitchy stuff. Whatever the tune, folk, funk, punk and pop make something out of nothing.They’re threats to anything or anyone who doesn’t want us to feel good about ourselves. Man inventing his precious eternity made an easy ending impossible. Love isn’t the stuff of words or books or reason. It is. Most times, healing takes a lot more than Band-Aids. When the light comes off something slightly differently than it ever has before, it can be seen in a whole new way.

Hula-Hoop Girl
 

sprawled out in the grass at a music festival
my teenage daughter beside me
the kind of scene where a lawn chair
would indicate advanced age
     and I’m a liar
feeling nostalgic for the days
when laying in grass was a joy
when the itchiness didn’t matter
when getting upright again wouldn’t be a challenge
when ticks were not a worry
 
You spun in circles
fifty feet away from us
the only entertainment before the music started
regaled in denim bell-bottoms and a flowered top
a hula-hoop flowing from hips to arms to neck
     flawless
a scene that has me feeling nostalgic
although nostalgia indicates presence
I’m estimating twenty years on you
and this scene is indicative of my parent’s youth
 
Your auburn hair
caught in the sunlight
caught in a past that
     we weren’t alive for

I Get Hard


just thinking about her
2 states away
in love with someone else

no matter how hot it gets
it’s the end of summer
no matter

the ceiling fan lethargic
while somewhere
dark, deep, brooding,
esoteric

an earthquake considers
rebirth



The Critique


We were on a bus
Crushed in there with the foreign tourists
Cruising west on Santa Monica Blvd
Hurtling through Beverly Hills through
The wooded area where the tourists
Were using their phones to take
Pictures of the Beverly Hills sign
I noticed a number of rather vulgar sculptures
I turned to her and said
Look at all that trash disguised as art
These rich motherfuckers have no taste
And she turned to me and said
What are you talking about
There’s all kinds of perfect sculptures
She waved her hand at the window vaguely
Look at them all, can’t you see?
She had this glassy look in her eyes
She was talking about the trees
I looked out at the trees whooshing by
I looked at her with her glazed eyes
And I thought How do I always end up
With hippie girlfriends?

Death of the Father
 
Windows and walls
can’t contain all that runs
through this house,
a waterfall that never
ceases, fills up every room,
every corner, every crack,
spills into the streets.
Neighbors wade through it
without noticing, drive cars,
walk, jog, ride bicycles.
For the family, there is no
lifeguard, no lifejacket, no life
that can be conceived in the
After – only the Before
of memories.

Only In America

Poor man, he works his situation to his benefit.
Walks to the highway with a cardboard sign:
NO CAR, TWO KIDS, TWO HUNGRY CATS,
GOT NO FOOD, GOT NO JOB.  PLEASE HELP.
Not a lie.  The Mercedes in the shop for an oil change.
His two kids are full grown with families of their own,
Neither one lives with him and both have good jobs.
He doesn't have any food.  He just pigged at Applebee's.
He retired last month with a pension and Social Security.
The only car that stopped to help him took his sign,
Robbed him of his shoes and followed him home.
They took his cats to make immigrant stew.

dunwu

you gotta go
through
years of misery
and stupidity
to achieve

sudden enlightenment
and realize
that life is just
a waste of time

Cherry Pickers


The bible forbids them from
wearing clothes made of different
fabrics, yet they prance around like peacocks
in their cotton, rayon, spandex and polyester blends.

The bible forbids them from
eating pigs, yet they can be seen
eating like pigs at the church pig roast.

The bible forbids them from
even touching the carcass of a pig,
yet every Sunday they praise and worship
their favorite college and NFL football teams as
testosterone poisoned heroes run pigskins into endzones.

The bible forbids them from
having premarital sex, having sex during
menstruation, having extramarital affairs, getting divorced,
getting remarried, yet they tell their children, Do as I say and not as a I do.

The bible forbids them from
cheating on their spouses, insists
those who do should be put to death.

The bible forbids them from
working on the Sabbath, insists
those who do should be put to death.

The bible forbids them from
dishonoring their parents, insists
those who do should be put to death.

The bible forbids them from
practicing idolatry, insists those
who worship their money, houses, cars
or iconic football stars should be put to death.

Yet they whistle past the graveyard
as they cheat, work on Sundays, dishonor their
parents and worship their idols, while insisting that the bible
condemns members of the LGBTQ+ community, as if everyone who
does not love like they do should be put to death, because the bible tells them so.

Milton

Paradise is lost
Reality has become an unbearable dream

My days are eaten by cannibals
storms, elephants, porches, and teeth

I feel like I’m in a fuckin’ hurricane

I feel like crying all the time.