boy that two thousand and two what a year that was

one day about fifteen years ago
she brushed her hair
spoke kindly to a friend
and
got frustrated with a stop sign
that was telling her what to do

‘you can stay as long as you clean up your shit’

his fingers toyed the air above
the keyboard and he cursed
how non-romantic the word

‘keyboard’

sounds in a prose poem but
for the purpose of authenticity
he allowed it to remain

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)

‘ok i need milk, a patio set, and a soul mate.’

what i thought i know about love
=
the entire inventory of a department superstore
from the highest of end merchandise to
open and retaped and returned packages
cluttered beneath the customer service desk.

what i know about love
=
a trip through the 10 items or fewer lane
with room to spare

three poems written on a sunday

‘surely, someone was president, right?’

the year was 1904

and i don’t have a damn clue

what happened or why it did.

* * *

geometry of sorts

if i draw a straight line

one, i’d need a ruler or

straight edge, because

my artistic talent is rather lacking

from me to you

two, i’d need you to remain

rather still which i don’t see happening

as you move and shake like the wind

will you still be there

when my straight line

i guess it would be a segment

as a line from me to you

would not be infinite

though i hope to spend

forever with you

well, of course

that’s also a metaphor

‘cause i’m already 33

so let’s forgive technicalities

becomes the point

that was point a to b

and is now the point

and very close space shared

by you and me?

* * *

claw marks on drywall

i’m worried there might be wolves in the house

i’ve noticed clusters of padded prints in the kitchen

and claw marks on the drywall in the pantry

just above the cereal i eat for morning breakfast.

 

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.

 

a father, paranoid

shoulder high silhouette  

in my darkened dining room

as i mount the stairs and then pause eyebrows taut and pensive 

sleeping child and wife above

microwaved nachos and a bowl of salsa in my hands

i turn back and down the stairs

and bravely face the opening from foyer into darkened dining room

yes, i see you

mylar balloon i forgot was in here

no my heart is not racing 

do not be stupid you are a balloon

goodnight keep an eye out for intruders.