I sit here in the local laundromat
on a aluminium park bench
amongst the fish eyed dryers
and icberg washing machines
that rumble with never siated
coin fed hunger, the smell of
artificial spring and wet dog
swelling on the humid breeze

In the corner an o.d lady sits
reading a mills and boon love story
two young men  stand
leaning against the door frame,
smoking cigarettes, they look
like casual warrior guards, on their day off
all surfer dude tan and body buff
guarding the inner sanctum of local cleanliness

Another mother, you can, tell by the handbag
is playing a game on her tablet, some tinny music
wafts over, and she glances at me with apology in her eyes
I have brought nothing except my phone
on which I am writing this, and carkeys and wallet
I watch the tumble dryers tumble, and am mesmerized
by the kaleidoscope of linens,playing at being acrobats
it is warm and cozy in the evening light, a world apart

Out side on the still warm sidewalk and old dog lounges
his eyes focused on old Mrs Mills and Boon, her load finishes
and as she gets up, so does the dog, both slow and methodical
as she folds her washing the dog noses the air, comes to the doorway, where one of the young blokes offers his hand
for a pat, the dog allows the contact, but his eyes remain on the old lady as she packs her wasing into a wheeled bag,
the pair then leave, walking down the street into the dusk,
the dog's nose mere inches from the old ladies gnarled hand
and his tail wagging furiously. I fell I have witnessed something
beautiful and intimate, as they wander away...

I wish to age like a wrap-around porch
In a thunder storm,
While generations tell tales,
Sipping drinks.
A porch of blinking stars,
A shelter out of rain,
With ascending and descending friends.

I will age like a tree,
Grow stronger in the wind;
Give shade and shelter to all
Beneath my ring-aged limbs.

I wish to age as a river bends,
Contiguous with all shores;
Floating everyone I know
On eternal waters,
A current winding with no rest.

I will age like a star,
Burning bright, giving light,
Something to reach for.

I wish to age like a mountain,
With secret caves and riches.
And you can rock your soul
Around, over or through,
Solid, snow-capped summit,
Beckoning you.

I will age as the moon,
In stages, full and new;
Each night different,
Unnoticeable fading,
As all who age will do.

on rock
in centre stream
I balance,ungainly

slick dark green algae
and well worn sneakers
do not provide adequate
friction, to maintain
perpendicular functions

in centre stream
on rock
I sit, hard and painfully

the whales
have started to come
gliding past with a wave
or tail breach.
occasionally they breach
thier entire bodies in the air
even if only for a moment

we are blasè about it
joking about the tourist boats
that race to be near the tails and fins
but really when the season is running
on a good day you can see three or more
so many more than when I first came here
then I kept a log of fins tails and breachings
now it is like when you see your neighbor
mowing the lawn you smile to acknowledge it
but still continue on with your day

and on some level I think the whale prefer that
cause when you think about it, would you want
some group of gawkers chasing you down
when you went up the coast for a romantic holiday

singing love songs
to one he will not meet
living pipe dreams
he can not complete

how can I make him
understand the gland
required was removed
whilst he snored

tux the cat,
singing love songs
to a lonely moon
like a flippin loon

the ache in my heart
remains undiminished
pressed down by daily need
compacted into that small blemish
that scars my soul, the tattoo of emptiness
written upon the reverse of my eyelids

this is the season of loss,
the time of letting go
yet in my heart I cannot,
I acknowledge the leaving
partake once again in the grieving,
but still I know
my heartstrings still seek yours
and now people wonder,
which lover have I lost
no lover no,no, in one sense, more indeed
but we both know if we were of Sappho's breed
we could have, no would have been each other's creed
the north south and compass complete..
but we were not born that way,
the gods at play made us for different fellows
so we became friends then sisterkin,
we were joyful for each others loves, each others success,
we were together blessed with understanding deep, deepest, over tea smoked and steeped we leapt
and climbed to highest heights
and supported each other when
we fell to the depths below...
we gave each othermgrace and kindness,
perfected the art of compassionate blindness,
and then you had to  up and go,
leaving me bereft in a way
that sees life in a far more muted way

so on that day,  the aniversary of sadness
which even if the sun shines bright,
still to me is tinted grey,
I will again take myself to a quiet place,
and drink lots of gin and a little tonic,
smile cry and become slightly, mildly histronic,
you see now three years on I just discovered
whilst your face is clear
I can hardly hear,
your voice in my head,
it is now like a whisper in my ear,
and so it appears the world,
sisterkin dear,  
is making itself abundantly clear....
you are dead,  lying dead in a box...