It's a Black horse
You can't deny it
Pins you real good
It's so quiet
Gaining Kingdom
Prime lymph node real estate
Late night cold shakes
Tried to hide it

It's a Black horse
Novv let's ride it
Beast is tiring
As it's striding
Losing Kingdom
Bring the chemo
&& **** this black horse

You
      I see
in smile-crinkled eyes
our later emotional distance
would have led
to my demise

You
how we reunified
awkward, then sweet
I almost didn’t recognize
              this frail man
standing by
the train station street
only when you
waved, started
limping did I understand
       And I said, "No! Wait" and
flew over to you,
a five-year- wait
for a bearhug
  so long overdue

You had forgotten your cane
in the excitement
of it all
My heart was strained
in tenderness
and worry that you
would fall

You
only you
could always make me
laugh uncontrollably
embarrassing me
in NY streets
   with songs and general madness
teaching me about life
on our city walks
and talks
observations made
through Second Avenue
diners
   and Sunday parks
our secret language
           and made-up
funky creature
our "who's gonna eat
the most spicy thing"
an essential
Chinese restaurant
                  feature

I cried each night
for a month
after you left the house
          thinking you left because of me
even though you and mom
explained it countless times
that this was untrue
but alas--- seven-year-olds
have their reveries
and when you did remarry-
a few years later
I grew to love her, too

My crazy-sweet
quietly loving
always open to me
never judging
How I hurt you
So unintentionally
And how finally,
in such grace,
you came back to me

You
are still my precious
bear hug sweet daddy
survivor of war
of car accidents
always wanting me
to meet my dreams
I think of you, now
so lonely
over there
I sit in my solitude
quietly stare

How ironic
We are again close
yet an ocean apart
a phone line's airwave
away
from my
        open heart



'

Randy was a roach
Of the american cockroach variety
He was a deep brown and had a sickly shine
To his wings and antennae
And he studied both of us
From a perch in our suitcase
In my girlfriend's East Harlem apartment
In the early hours of a sunday morning

"**** it! Get it out of the suitcase!"
My girlfriend yelled
Flailing her arms
As Randy reclined on our valuables
His antennae twitching

As in most crisis
I hesitated
And Randy burrowed into the suitcase
Past the underwear, collard shirts, and sunscreen

I dug in a frenzy
Rending my girlfriend's meticulous packing plan
And scattering clothes about
All in the name of meaningless destruction

But I couldn't find Randy
"He's probably in the collar of one of your shirts, or in a pair of my shoes"
My girlfriend speculated
And I started shaking the clothes wildly about the room
Wanting more than anything to extinguish Randy's life
To sterilize our newfound stowaways presence
But I never found him
And Randy boarded the plane with us to ***** Cana

While our plane painted dizzying contrails over the ocean
We speculated about Randy's
Most likely devious activities
"I bet he's eating the granola bars under my bikinis"
"I bet there is more than one in there"
"Maybe he's dead?"
"I bet he's laying eggs"
We both pondered over the fact that Randy could be Rhonda
And that we would open the suitcase to a scattering of near microscopic progeny
And we clutched each other in the cold, recycled air of the cabin

When we got to the room
Past all the tin shacks and open air bars
Where the locals sat in plastic lawn chairs
Staring at the tourist shuttles
That carted pale skin behind tinted windows
To decadently decorated rooms where the towels were folded into swans
We opened the bag to see if Randy
Had surfaced, died, or multiplied

But Randy was no where to be seen , a phantom
We unpacked everything under the utmost scrutiny
Not trusting any of the items we had packed so lovingly and repacked
Shaking cover ups and tee shirts like the wind shakes the leaves in autumn
But he never presented himself
And we saw none of his foul brood
We even unzipped the lining
But Randy had simply vanished
Evaporating into the humid, tropical air

I like to think that Randy is somewhere on the island still
That he has impregnated or has been impregnated
That he spends his days under the intense sun
And cottony wisps of clouds
Sipping Presidente
Sitting under an umbrella made of dried palm fronds
Happy to be away from the honking horns and crowded subways
Just like we were