shit parade

shit went down at work
a fingerpointing parade
work politics suck

[i want to drink beer]

i want to drink beer
but i have to work instead
beer would be better

addressing spring

is that the robin i hear sing?
he speaks of trust and honesty
and this is the first sign of spring

oh yes–it’s time to do this thing!
to shake off the shackles of history
is that the robin i hear sing?

he speaks of hope, and hope he brings
to help lift us from our misery
and this is the first sign of spring

is this the change that we’ve been missing?
is this the path towards our recovery?
is that the robin i hear sing?

this is what we should be addressing:
he sings about accountability,
and this is the first sign of spring

that tear of joy makes my eye sting
such a long wait for this discovery–
is that the robin i hear sing?
and this is the first sign of spring

30 minute sestina

i just challenged myself to write a silly sestina using 6 words picked by someone else. i gave myself 30 minutes and this is what happened. the words: squirrel, tree, black, run, ground, today

the tragedy of the acorn

i first grew in a bundle on that tree.
they told us to beware that city squirrel,
“you’ll know him when he sets off in a run
to snatch you from your bough and hit the ground
to hide you in the soil, rich and black.
beware that cunning squirrel, he lurks today.”

i heard the cunning squirrel so close today.
he scampered up and down that backyard tree.
with flipping tail and claws a shiny black,
he menaced off the birds, a scary squirrel.
he sat there on the bough and stood his ground,
so when the sparrows swooped, he did not run.

and when the blue jays bombed, he did not run.
i doubt a thing around could scare today
that squirrel (who sits so firmly in his ground
that lies so far high up in this oak tree).
i doubt a thing around could take this squirrel
(without succumbing to his eyes, so black

they match the color of his heart, yes black,
like coal). if only i could drop and run
i’d leave this tree and dangers of this squirrel.
alas, my acorn hide is green today
and must be brown before i leave this tree.
i must be wise and sage to hit the ground,

to grow into a tree, deep in the ground.
to pierce into the soil rich and black,
i must drop swiftly down straight from this tree
and hide myself before I see him run
to dine upon my hide, oh not today!
i’m clamped onto this branch, you naughty squirrel.

time knocked me from my branch? oh lucky squirrel!
as i lie here, flesh brown upon the ground,
i know my destiny has changed today.
a snack i’ll be inside his mouth of black
for here he comes a galloping, his run.
i’ll ne’er grow now into a wise oak tree.

oh squirrel your eyes are beady dark and black
i’m helpless on the ground–i watch you run.
today, you’ll eat me under the oak tree.

the glorious bike commute of a city-dweller

alright mister white trash road rage man
get back into your rusted gas hog van

save your blustering filibustering and your blah blah blah
for the next poor sap who done you wrong.

shame on you to try to pick a fight
with simply a commuter on a bike.

and then there’s you, mister swervey swiper
ignoring completely the clear white stripe of

the bike lane. how dare you swerve on purpose?
you’re really trying to kill or hurt us?

and then at last my new favorite turd,
you, the one who drove over the curb,

and crushed the back wheel of this bike
and left it there as if you were right.

i don’t know where you people come from
but i fear your brain is missing just some

of what we call intelligence
(or maybe just common sense,

or perhaps a civil courtesy.
these are the things i do not see.)

like in the paper where i read
he hit him then left him for dead

crumpled in a bloody ball, then shouted
“that’s what sidewalks are for” he tauted

this sacred knowledge of traffic law:
when hitting a man, you must applaud?

please people, grow a pair, and think
when the gas runs out, or your gas funds shrink

you’ll find yourself on two wheels too
and won’t you feel silly. oh yes, won’t you.

[unfinished]

ode to small boobs

i went for a jog,
forgetting to wear a bra;
this was no problem.

lipstick

it’s hard to know which one to use
but after so many trials and so many errors
a clever girl always knows the ruse

and she must also keep up with the news
to flirt with the victim or with the news barer…
it’s hard to know which one to use

it’s hard to know which one to choose
who is the one who is willing to spare her
a clever girl always knows the ruse

a skillfully picked purse or pair of shoes
can lead the prom queen’s reign of terror
it’s hard to know which one to use

even when and when not to apply rouge
to make sure she is the fairer
a clever girl always knows the ruse

she must be sure not to abuse
but to walk the line so they beware her
it’s hard to know which one to use
a clever girl always knows the ruse

[last night the cat sneezed]

last night the cat sneezed
on my face; i awoke and
plunked her on the floor

she sleeps with her face
pressed to the heat vent, which dries
out her sinuses

because of this, she
sneezes on my face, but won’t
give up the heat vent

right now, she’s dropping
her toys outside the bedroom
this: nightly routine

after three to six toys
she leaps on the bed, full throt-
tle purr, a greeting

then she fluffs up her
cushion, asks to be covered,
and sleep settles in

furry space heater,
you keep my legs warm. mostly
though, you warm my soul

[five seven five and]

five seven five and
i’m counting on my fingers
to write this haiku

i’ve been in a cave
conjuring the creative
the labors of fruit

i do not social-
ize much and that’s just fine with
me, i like alone

[lort, you're pushin' it]

“lort, you’re pushin’ it.”
he says this to me nightly
as we go to bed