Marriage in Fast Forward

I watched them
From across the aisle.
They held hands
Under the hymn book
Sliding into the high notes of
Oh, That Will Be Glory For Me!

The preacher’s sermon
Droned on.
I was busy contemplating the future
For the young couple.

They would marry

Have a few kids
Twins and one coming later
With learning disabilities.
The twins had freckles
And blue eyes.
The other was dark haired
With slate grey eyes
And rarely spoke.

He would take a second job

To make the house payments
While she took nursing classes.
His second job was with the
Park District
Picking up trash.
That’s where he would hurt his back
Go on disability
Start drinking
And spend his waking hours
Berating the little
Dark-haired boy
Who would rarely come out
Of his room.

She would start seeing more

Of a fellow student in the
Industrial engineering department.
 
Divorce papers would be filed
And the case drag on for three years.

He got the house

Because she could no longer
Stand it.

The kids saw their dad

Every other weekend
Except for dark-haired boy
Who refused to see his father.

The industrial engineering student

Became a graphic artist
And moved to Paris to find himself.

She rented a three bedroom apartment

Two miles from the hospital
Where she worked the night shift
Until the kids moved out.

None of them ever went to church.

She eats her dinners at work

Smokes too much

And never laughs.

Sometimes

At midnight
She stares into the void
And softly hums
Oh, That Will Be Glory For Me!

Invisible Man*

I shaved my beard
To see who would notice
And was shocked
That nobody did.
It was a full beard!
It’s not like I’m a child
Or little peach-fuzzed
Pimple-faced kid.

I may saw off my leg

Or lop off my head
To see if people
Notice me then.
I could set myself afire
Or blow myself up
Or jump from a ledge
Or drink a barrel of gin.

But it doesn’t matter.

I know the cause
The reason nobody
Notices me now.
When I turned sixty
I slid from the grid.
Invisibility requires one thing... 
Just keep having birthdays. That’s how!


* For the record, I'm growing my beard back. Screw 'em.

One Benefit

I think you’d better go
She said.
I did not understand then
Nor do I now.

If I had it to do
Again
I’d take that girl
In my arms
And never let go.

Things always look

Different
Looking back
Than they do
In the moment.

The passing of time

Provides greater
Clarity.
I’m unsure whether that is
A blessing or
Curse.

Of course
There is no
Going back.
Time prohibits that
Probably for the greater
Good.

Time does give us
One benefit.
It makes us better at
Remorse.

 

 

Later Life Crisis

It’s just a small spot.
We’ll run some tests.
No worries, he said.
I’ll know in a few days.
It’s probably nothing.

Yeah, they say there’s

A problem.
The accountants are
Doing their thing.
It’s probably nothing.

Sixty, you say?

That’s kinda late
For a career change.
What could you do anyway?
It’s probably nothing.

She said she’s leaving.

Don’t try to stop her.
It’s too late for words, she said.
No matter what I say
It’s probably nothing.

I tried to make my mark.

I really made an effort
To leave some kind of legacy.
But I have a feeling
No matter what I’ve done…

…It’s probably nothing.

Oats and Apples

The Winchester
Made a soft
Sliding sound
As it settled into it’s
Leather scabbard.
I slung the saddle bags in place
And strapped down my bedroll.
The cinch strap was tight
But not too tight.
My canteen was slung
Over the pommel
The long hemp rope
At my right knee.

I walked my pony easy

Through town
Just a drifter
Drifting.
Nobody paid much mind
Not even Duffy
Sweeping the walk in front
Of his saloon.
He looked up
Then quickly back to his
More interesting dust particles.
I still felt last night’s whiskey
Burning its way
Into my stomach.

My mind went to all those
Western tales
Where the handsome rider
Leaves behind a grateful village
And a broken-hearted lass.
That’s why it’s called
Fiction.

My pony didn’t much care

Where we were going
As long as it ended in
Oats and apples.

Maybe it’s just that simple.

Where a man comes from

Who he is
What he’s done
Where he’s going
Don’t mean a thing
As long as
For him
And everybody else
It all ends in
Oats and apples.
  

Sounds

It’s the sounds I miss.
The sure metallic scrape
Of her key
Opening the lock
On the kitchen door.
The gentle scuffing
Of her shoes on the tile
Floor.

I miss the shuffle

Of her purse settling

In a chair by the table.

The light-hearted hum
Of a song
Only she hears.

I miss the slow

Warm sound

Of her brush
Swimming through
The river of her long hair.
Of her body moving
Against fresh cotton
Bed sheets.

I miss the rhythmic sound
Of her deep-sleep breath.
The sound of her arms
Her legs moving naturally
Against the blanket.
The soft click
At the back of her throat
As she dreams of mystery
And marvel.

I miss the sound

Of her easy
Morning yawn
And the wakening move
Of her body
Stretching
In the golden morning
Light
Flooding our window.

I miss the sounds.

Perspective and Time

The Hunter
Appears as
The Hunter
The Scorpion
As The Scorpion
Orion
As Orion
And The Dipper
As such
Because we say they do.

Perspective and time
Account for everything.

In fact
Perspective and time
Coupled with the keen eye
Of the observer
Assume responsibility for every detail
Reported by the eye of man.

Return to your telescope in a million years

And the universe will have scattered
Like dice
Tossed in a back alley.

She said she loved me

But that was when the universe
Perspective and time
Joined together
For a temporary alignment
Causing the appearance
Of love…

…if you squinted hard
And held your mouth just right.

Collectively

People walk before city shops 
Bus stops, aprons to alleyways

Heads down

Thumbs blurring

Above digital letters

On bright screens.

They

Collectively

Have no expressions

They, collectively

Have no visible emotion.

I lean against the brick front

Of a shoe store.

At the counter a woman taps a tablet.

A co-worker pauses in the doorway

To the back room

Bent over a device.

They

Collectively

Attend to business elsewhere

It having nothing to do

With shoes.

Traffic stops at the corner.

A teen driver in a new Ford

Brakes hard

Retrieving her cell phone

Upon which she quickly taps

A message

Exactly like the approaching bus

In which passengers

Collectively

Do the same.

Across the boulevard

Pedestrians mimic the actions 

Of others

Afflicted with the same virus.

They

Collectively

Submerge themselves in

Digital dialogues

The whole of which

Are shallow and meaningless.

Thousands

Millions of tap-tap-taps

All furious

Collectively

Vacuous.

Information is making us stupid

Rather than intelligent.

We

Collectively

Have turned our thumbs

Into the principal instrument

Of inquiry

Into a world meant for immersion

In things

Other than digital.

We are digging our graves with our thumbs.

Corn

She came out of the cornfield
The way she went in

Head bowed

Collar up

As though the blades of stalks

Were rain

And she must fend off the spray.

As she exited the long

Narrow row

Her eyes rose to mine

Where I leaned against the fender

Waiting her to finish her crazy need

To investigate field corn.

Between her lips

White teeth shone

As straight as the corn rows

She’d explored.

What? No corn?

Of course not.

They aren’t ours, goofy.

I already knew her answer

But asked just the same.

Then let’s go buy some.

She smelled like green things

As she got in the car.

Like fresh soil.

Like earth.

Her smile remained

As we hunted a farm stand

For corn.

Years later, that morning

Returns her to me

Bracketed in corn

And smiling like the sun.

I See You

I See You

You stand so still
Before me.

My hand stretches

Toward your face.

Lightly

Slowly

I trace my fingertips
Down
From your hairline
Brow
Over your closed eyelids
Down
The flaring of your nostrils
The valley between your lips
Down
Your chin
To your throat
Ending in the hollow
At the base of your neck.

I take much time
Gathering your contours
The way snow lightly falls
Pooling in secret corners. 

I see you

Requires no vocabulary
Save that of my fingers
Navigating your face
Assuring you are forever mapped
Known
Understood.

I see you.