Miles to go,
I do recall,
82 years,
That was all,
It happened in bed,
I hoped he was dreaming,
Dogs howling,
Sirens screaming,
He was alone,
I still feel appalled,
“He died in his sleep, after a fall”.
©B L Costello 2018

A beautiful statue,
She is so exposed,
It almost like she’s not wearing clothes,
Her smile is brief,
It’s so hard to catch,
No resistance,
Just accept,
She really doesn't have much to do,
Still she worries,
Will he approve?
She can’t believe it’s come so far,
Does the makeup cover the scars?
Posture implies confidence,
Does she ponder consequence?
Still she wonders which is worse,
Being his lady,
Or Americas First….
© B L Costello 2017

THE MIND OF A CHEF
Can scare you to death,
THE LAY OVER cancelled
Anthony left,
He was always gone,
He worked on vacation,
A COOKS TOUR,
NO RESERVATIONS,
He said that he had no regret,
Thru the sinewy smoke of his cigarette,
and still he left us eating crow,
keeping a secret,
PARTS UNKNOWN,
He's gone again,
his choice,
his fault,
Clearing the table,
I spill the salt,
Unlucky,
******!
I don’t understand
The flavor is gone,
Everything’s bland
©B L Costello 2018

He did what he should
He was just a kid,
That what he learned,
That’s what he did,
Because it was “right”,
It must be good,
A black and white childhood,
But sometimes thing are not that way,
Black and white does blur to gray
That can never be annulled,
Points are lost when the tips get dull
And now he engages every man’s fight,
To do as he should,
Or to do what is right
©BL Costello 2018

I had crossed that path where No One could find me,
I only glanced back,
Then a door closed behind me,
Checking the room,
I turned to the mirror,
Assured I smiled,
No One is here!
Welcome my friend,
Constant and true,
You never told me what to do,
Constant,
always,
I could not be scared,
because I always knew....No One cared,
when I asked questions.....
No One knew,
and No One helped me,
What did you do?
Yes, I’m still smiling,
I am happy,
It’s true
I like No One better than you
©B L Costello 2018

The other place,
Down below,
Really is closer than you know
Beware,
Its not so far beneath,
That’s why I never have cold feet
Bare foot…
Smiling…
I thoughtfully tread,
They read the book,
I heard what was said,
My chin is up,
My teeth are clenched,
funny you never notice the stench,
Playing my fiddle,
You reap what you sow
My place is closer than you know
©B L Costello 2018

It's morning, rain has fallen making all the ground darker shade and I'm sweaty,
and, god, I didn't want to be sweaty.
I'm pushing panting up a hill in sixth gear on my six-gear bike because
the gear-shifter has long since broken
as a result of a time I cut too close to a
old-fashioned lamp post,
caught my pedal on it
and went spinning headlong into a rose bush.

The trees are green,
greener than I've ever seen them.
It's morning and the cars shick by, rolling atop the water in the road like Christ did in the early years.
A car slams into a puddle.
When did our lives become so perfectly metaphored in cars?
The a to B life; stopping only when stopped by a glaring light or harsh word; filling up and running out; breaking down only on the road, never in my own garage.

A warm rain will fall this morning.
I hear only the breathy whisper of my breath out my mouth
and engines and tires.
I think nothing, which is a hard-earned comfort
seeing as I, like every person, have a lot to think about,
ever since we invented the automobile; ever since we crucified a sinless man; ever since the moment we thought nothing, and were sent crashing into a rose bush.