Sunset on a Wheelbarrow

Dust road shimmer, another dry afternoon

cloudburst just enough for runnels

and rotting spilt grain

a week’s worth of grain

on the ground, near the coop

but not enough for new corn growing

or unshriveled beans.

 

She sends the children

barrow tippers of grain now

mixed with rotgut bottles in the

knobbyshade tree roots

to a neighbor, watches

the chickens peck peck peck

at precious scattered gold.

 

Yellow marks and cigarette ‘O’s

on her arms, neck and thighs

wait for new color.

 

There is no money to

paint the house

but

soon

she will be vivid as sunset.

 

 

For William Carlos Williams

Published in Deland Museum of Art 2023 Collection

I'll Feed Your Cats

Sure, Good Buddy, I’ll feed your cats

The nice grey one, wo rubs his head against my leg

And the nasty black one, who hisses and scratches at

Everyone

But I think that is because he had a

Difficult childhood.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few days

While you’re in Heart of Florida

Since your neighbor waroound the corner

Decided it is too difficult

To unlock the door twice a week and

Refill the water bowls and automatic feeder.

 

I’ll stop at the store and pick up

Cat food and litter and treats

Come by twice a week even though it is

At least 90 minutes roundtrip

And I’m not retired like your friend across the way

Who was friends with your parents

And regales me with stories of card games with your mom -which he lost –

But at least he gets the mail.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few weeks

When I’m not sitting with you at

Consulate Davenport or Palmer or Bartow

At least they lifted some of the COVID restrictions

So I can visit and not have to talk to you through a window

And I can bring you gum and pudding and new shirts

And socks and it is ok to give them to you without going through

The sterilization chamber.

 

I’ll feed your cats for a few months

While you’re home with that healthcare worker

Who is supposed to assist you with common living tasks

But when I spend the weekend, after you pick out a movie

I throw in the laundry and run by Publix to get groceries

Before we discuss God and religion and is there reincarnation and

Who is saved and I didn’t know you were a minister.

 

I’ll feed the cats for a few years

While negotiating with the HOA

Over the unmowed grass and the fallen leaves

And the lawyers and the insurance agencies

And bring your Bible

The pocket Bible, not the large one, the pocket Bible

Well-thumbed and dogeared

To the rehab center in Sebring or Bartow or

Even Celebration.

 

I’ll feed the cats for a few more years

Because I don’t want you to worry

When your heart clogs from

Untreated diabetes and ulcerated wounds

I’ll pack your books and guitars

The painting you inherited from your uncle who died of alcoholism

Bring them all to my place when the roof caves in

because I can do that for you, Good Buddy.

 

I’ll feed your cats for forever

Spending thousands of hours and thousands of dollars

And don’t fucking tell me I’m

Doing God’s work and getting Karma Points

Because I am tired and already stretched too thin and

Too depressed and too over-worked and support too many people

And I am done ith being the practical dependable reliable one

But I love you, Good Buddy,

I don’t want to lose you

Even a little bit of you

So I’ll pick up another bag of kitty litter

And another bag of dry food

And a few cans of wet as a treat for your babies

Because I’ll feed your cats.

 

Four Truths and a Lie

My daughter steps past him

not seeing him

But I do

I see the huddled form

not much more than the

ratty moving blanket

He’s wrapped in

against the odd Florida chill

 

My daughter steps past him

not smelling him

but I do

When he rises and staggers

standing between the dumpsters

to pee the reek of

urine and alcohol and unwashed

carries on the breeze

 

My daughter steps past him

not hearing him

But I do

The hacking glob of sputum

padding of his bare feet

hand thudding on the

wall holding him upright

echo through the parking lot

 

My daughter steps past him

asks me

Have you seen him?

The homeless guy, with the ragged blanket?

Really skinny, has dreads?

I give him a dollar most mornings,

but today he wasn’t here

Yesterday either …

 

My daughter opens the car door

strokes her baby’s hair

Have you seen him?

Enigma Machine

Doorways, hallways, coffins of possibility

if you press the buttons in the correct sequence

if you solve the enigma riddle

stop the cypher shadow mushrooms

lasciate ogne speranza voi ch'intrate.

 

A small black bird

Turing, chained by love unspoken

never spoken.

He breaks his vow of silence

vow of fear, vow of thwarted need.

The lid will slide over his shrouded form

over the coins pressed into his eye sockets

gently smother his breath

as the raven mutters a prayer

scatters a beakful of dirt.

EmmaLee

Eyes closed, does not matter. Anywhere, everywhere

Change, deny, anger, grief. Cannot escape, still

I see the shadow of your tomb there.

 

Remember tears of a time when every hair

you lost trailed hope by the pitchful

Eyes closed, does not matter. Anywhere, everywhere.

 

And apricots and placebos and clinicals were

the daily dosage locking up the door.  Still

I see the shadow of your tomb there.

 

Moonface,  bloated Sobibor.

your purpled flesh, bones now fragile

Eyes closed, does not matter. Anywhere, everywhere.

 

Counting months, counting up to safety year

drop and shatter the magic eight ball

Eyes closed, does not matter. Anywhere, everywhere

I see the shadow of your tomb there.

 

Café Lucca, Very Late, on a Tuesday

He pulls the handle, then a slow steam hiss

The priests, close by, converse in Tuscano

Biscotti, cannoli, mouthfuls of bliss

He pulls the handle, then a slow steam hiss

You pull me in closer, seeking a kiss

While I stir sweet, thick, precious espresso

He pulls the handle, then a slow steam hiss

The priests, close by, converse in Tuscano

FSPA 2022 Triolet Contest - 2nd place

[Un]Happy Birthday, Sweetheart - Excerpt

It was 4:25 am. He put on jeans and a sweatshirt, went downstairs. Might as well get coffee, he could stretch that for an hour or two, until it was a reasonable time to get dressed for real.

He opened the door. She was sitting on the stoop, on the next to the top step, leaning against the rail.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I was so lonely, I am so lonely, so sad. I … I … I came here. I’m sorry. I was going to leave as soon as it got light. Before you got up. You weren’t supposed to see me. I wanted to be someplace I didn’t feel hated.”

He sat down, put an arm around her shoulders so she could rest against him. She was skinny, skinnier than he’d ever seen her. Every time her life wrecked, she lost weight. She probably weighed less than his dog. 

“Are you hungry?”

                She shook her head.  “I don’t remember hungry. I’ll leave.”

                “I’m sorry for leaving you. Stay. At least until daybreak.”

                “I understand. I do. I want to leave me, too. Here.” She opened her purse, pulled out a magazine.  “Here. It is safer for me if I don’t have that.”

                He held the magazine. One chamber was empty. Which meant, maybe, that she still had a bullet in the gun.  He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know.

                They sat on the stoop and watched the stars cede their light to the sun.