Having never
mastered the
rotational demands
of dancing
I stand alone
in this
forsaken corner,
my toes
corkscrewed
discreetly
into the
carpet

What I
remember
most
were the
sweet dimples
in the soft flesh
of your elbows
as you passed by

Although
they appear
on many
another’s arm,
only yours
upend
the unsettled
chasteness
of my dreams

Accursed is
the 1:45
outbound express
long distinguished
for its
contentious couples
vomiting babies
drunks marinating
in *****
and miraculous
near misses with
cars careening
around curves in the
no passing lane

Monday Morning
chugs out of the
Harbor of Weekdays
like a leaking
garbage barge
sailing into
ominous seas,
bound for that
remote
but redeeming
rendezvous
with  a beaming
Friday

For viewers,
I’m adjusting
my face
and while
foraging though
the trunk
full of masks
and manufactured
convictions,
a sack of
amusing diversions
spills into view,
all of it lacking
convincing connection
or anchor…

I’m the
Houdini
of human communion
vanished again
into smoke,
a phantom floating
in air
left behind
for your
entertainment.

Today is
Trash  Collection Day
on my avenue
and the raccoons
and  feral cats
and  unleashed dogs
and diverse rodents
are rejoicing.
It’s a jamboree
of indiscriminate
gluttony and
the lip smacking
stickiness
of furry jowls

It should be
illegal
because
I don’t
look good
in shorts --
white spindly
legs
like those on
an emu
and big
fat feet
slapping the
suffering
pavement.