From
the veil of
trees, I can
peer into
your window,
and count
the family,
imagine them
gone to bed,
dreaming of blue,
"underwater, unaware."

Those summer
evaporations tickle
my skin,
bring on such
an observational
itch:
how you,
freshly out
of the pool,
bloomed
brightly on
Betamax.

He was a boxer

Picked up the craft at six
and never put it
down

Unfortunately though
being a good boxer doesn’t
earn you a good job
in today’s society. Best he
could do was bouncer
at a local bar
His IQ wasn’t much help either

He beat up quite a number of
troublemakers
and earned a reputation

became a local celebrity

The women desired him
and got him
and life was good until the one
invincible opponent stepped
into the ring

Well, there are many invincible
opponents in a man’s life
but his was prostate cancer

All the women who wanted to
take pictures with him
and have his autograph on their
chests and wanted to take
him home meant nothing now

One of them was a rich
older lady who
gifted him a car after he served
her a few times in the bedroom

He used it to
drive at full speed into
a pole

And as it happens after someone
dies, the people had only
good words to say
about him

They thought he didn’t leave
much behind
but one of the girls he’d been
with knew better

She rubbed her swollen
belly as she
thought of him. It’ll be fine
as long as her husband wouldn’t
suspect anything

death

all the living

Between Oases
Are the dry patches of
Misdirecting and wanting
To find a trail to the comfort
Of the next Oasis..
The secret
Yet to be discovered by many
The weary traveler:
Pause on your trail and
Be introduced to the You
Who has never departed
The Oasis...!

I always thought prodigal meant
profligate, dissipated, or debauched -
such unpoetic but robust words.

There’s the story of the prodigal son
the young man who got an early inheritance
from his old father and left home
to spend the wealth
on ******, and sinful living
yet when he returned home broke and broken
his father received him with open arms and tears.

Sadly I can identify with that son
having spent so much
in such a way
over my lifetime.

But a man told me it should be called
the story of the prodigal father,
the daddy whose love for his son
was utterly lavish, reckless, and generous.

Oh, to be a man
with such an extravagant love!

Let There be Barbies

          Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.
          Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play.

                   -Churchill, Christmas Eve radio address, 1941

Some young mothers ban Barbies and Santa Claus
And all such trinkets and dolls and mummeries
Sacrificing childhood to fashionable gossip -
In obedience to the Holy Internet

A toy Cochise must never ride again
Or little plastic soldiers defend their forts
Or Maid Marian roam with Robin Hood –
Barbie must never be dressed for success

Little children can now sit on the floor
On Christmas morn to play with ideologies