Bury the satire under pillows and sheets,
Why is this me?
Why is this me?
I keep reading the stories of older women who will someday be me,
Why can't I see?
Why can't I see?
In the glasses I fill with wine,
In the rooms that smell of pine,
The cheek that's touching mine,
When will I be?
When will I be?
I am thinking all alone
Calling strangers on the phone
"Hey it's me. It's me. Hello?"
I am reaping what I've sown,
Why is this me?
Why is this me?

Don't call me baby
I don't care
Why don't you stop wasting your time on someone who's only half there?

I'm not trying to be the protagonist
And this time I am the bad guy,
Fine,
I've been the one so back and forth with making up my mind.

I can't answer your calls when I'm out getting my friends
I'm tangled in the webs of drinks, faces and heads,
Please don't get upset, I don't want you mad,
But when I'm not around, it's because I'm trying not to feel sad.

And you've told me so many times you would fill the holes,
And you're trying too hard to make me hot when I'm cold,
I wish I did care, but I don't have the time
To think about life with you in mine.

I know I know I know it'll come back to me,
I'll be a lonesome queen someday,
But you can call someone else baby
And they'll feel the same way.

Outside it's snowing.
friday afternoon, construction
site more silent with every
worker welcoming weekend.

there's beauty in this.

gloved pats on dusty shoulders,
flakes of white like god's
dandruff on everything
else.

there's beauty in all of this.

I think of my woman's warm
lips against my cold cheek as I
enter. I will turn down beers
with the boys to feel them sooner,

and there is so much beauty in all
of this.

god is a zen buddhist with an
art degree.
I enter my office and wrestle off
my hi-vis coat, shake the drops from

my hard hat and hang it up.
kick my boots off against the wall
like an eight-year-old coming
home from school.

I could explain a workman's week
ending more poetically, but
life and weekends are both too short,
and there's so much ******* beauty

in all of this, and outside
it's snowing. outside it's
snowing like
hell.

Awaiting the storm
Forming on distant shores.
Preparing myself for
The oceans tidal swell.
Opening my heart
To the rawest of elements.
I ride the anticipation
Of the coming waves.
Conquering the building
Fear as the water leaps high.
A great solid wall
Unfurling its rippling energy.
Through the tube,
Board skimming, skipping.
Flirting with danger,
Risking everything,
Inside a living
Hollow cocoon of
Thundering power.
Controlled fear beats
Inside my pumping heart,
Driving my adrenaline
Through to spiritual fulfilment.
On exiting the beast,
It rolls onward to its death.
Through its existence
We both lived, sharing
A unique oneness.
Children of nature within
A union of creation, so special,
It takes the breath away.
Savouring my exhilaration,  
I see another wave being born,
And prepare to surf again.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

I miss when you were a child you would pretend you were an airplane,
Spread your arms out and run across the backyard like it was the sky
And you were flying over the baseball parks and lake nearby,
Back when your shoes had Velcro straps because you couldn't tie them,
And you took naps every day so you would grow up tall and good.

I miss when you were a child and you weren't always so apprehensive,
You took chances and had faith in your yourself like a bird with its wings,
And tomorrow wasn't even considered
Because today there was so many things to see.
Back when that mushroom haircut wasn't your decision
And mom only allowed you to have sugar free lollipops after the doctors,

Yeah, I miss that so much.

I miss when you were a child.