scavenger hunt of sorts

so my queen has given unto me
orders to find for her
words
new ones, specifically
which lemme tell you
if we’re speaking off the record
there really is no such thing
at this point as ‘new words’
but i catch her drift and
whether or not i think it’s
feasible to find new words for her

when an itty bitty
warrior queen
asks something of me
’tis my duty as her king
to at least make a seriously game effort

and wait here i’ve got a picture
of the two of us together

she is so pretty
brave and wild
and come on
look how happy
she is to be with
me on a bridge
that leads to a bench
we didn’t make out on
(yet)

‘just stop being assholes for a second’

let’s say maybe
just pretend

people knew
how to be
nice to each other

and like, that was it.

just being nice
that’s it that’s all

or maybe i’d just make a diorama.

it would take way too long
for me to
write out all of the
things i do not know
and like it would be
a nightmare like how would
i organize it alphabetically
maybe inverse order based
upon what i ‘should’ know
like gosh that’s intimidating
to think of putting into writing
and wait how would i even
be able to express what i don’t know
if like um
i don’t know it so then i’d have to
decide do i begin with at least two major
categories things i know i don’t know
and things i don’t even know at all

let’s breathe together ok

anyway

i love you and right yes what i do know is

you make your daddy very happy.

one-man life jacket

sometimes metaphors

come to life

for just a moment

and sometimes

we are fortunate enough

that capture that moment.

(also sometimes
we’re lucky enough
that our arms look
amaaaziiiiiing
in that moment and gosh
look how sweet she is
rubbing her eyes oh my
darling and my love)

because my memaw is feeling better

Hope cracked the closet door

the hinge squeaks this time of year due to the humidity

and eased it open

she stood facing dress after dress

eyes washing over fabric and color and style

she slid out of the somber black number

she’d worn over the weekend

stepped free from pooled polyester at her ankles

pulled a bright jumper

patterned orange and blue

from the rack and onto her frame

adjusted the straps in her full-length mirror

on the closet door

it was here when she moved in

and smiled at her reflection.

 

‘just let me change into something less visible’

he walked whistling by the graveyard

but only because the gate was locked

the security guard was in his line of sight

and he was wearing a shirt and tie

(and they – shirts and ties – have no love of climbing wrought iron)

 

lined pajama pants

i sat down to write you a poem.

needless to say, i did, because here it is, but i am not sure how i feel of its quality.

the problem, dear, is i had the television on,

and i also suffered from the hunger, slightly,

and have we discussed how my hands get cold easily this time of year?

poor circulation is my guess.

so, i wanted to write you a beautiful poem

and what happened is this little mish-mash of proesetry

written while i wear lined pajama pants on a Sunday night, in my living room,

one lamp on, the other off, because i plugged it into the wrong outlet a week ago and am too lazy to fix it.

a(nother) two line poem

i thought you might like to know;

you are where i laugh the most.