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I built this room
With my own two hands.
It has everything I need
A bed, a chair and table
And a window to see outside.
I can live or die here
Without being a bother to anybody.
I made this life
With my own two hands.
It has everything I need
And a window to see what I'm missing.
I will live or die here
Without being a bother to you.
πŸƒβ€β™€οΈ 🚢 πŸšΆβ€β™€οΈ  πŸš—

The lawyer neighbor daily inches
his car past its designated spot,
eating most of my front area,
my own parking space.

In my circling anger, i forget,
i come out to pick up the newspaper
without a face shield, not even a mask.

The other neighbors go on with
their daily tasks...cleaning cars,
sweeping frontyards, eyes and
ears are open...watching people.

None neighbors pass...walk, jog,
one after another, followed by cars,
all headed some place...like a trail
of crawling insects when rocks are
dislodged.....confident.....patient
in finding new hidden corners.

Upon some neighbors' treetops,
yellow warblers lament the ruining of
their nests...as the hacking of bamboo
trees continue, to clear the vacant lot.

I claim a few cut bamboo trees...fallen
on our yard...to prop growing vines.

The rolled newspaper defends me from
flies, bees, or mosquitoes, but none dare
touch me.....just a light shower and
a cool, caressing monsoon wind.



sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 21, 2021
Frozen clothes on
the clothesline, blowing in
a vagrant wind.
My nose red from the
Wine and beer at
the bar.
December of '87 came
hard and ferocious,
forever changing my life.

I was working night shift at
the nursing home up
the street.
A few of us went to
the tavern after work.
I got home around noon,
and went to bed.
21 years old, with money,
a job, and a car.
I didn't realize
life was borrowed.
Mom couldn't find
her sweater, so she
came to my room and
asked if I had seen it.
I said,
"No Mom, I'm trying to sleep."
I should have realized that
there's plenty of time for
sleep when I die.
But youth produces ignorance,
and I was drowned in it.

Mom asked if she could
borrow my car to go
Christmas shopping.
After more discussion about
her sweater,
I, with eyes closed tight,
held up the keys,
and that was the last
time I saw her.

My last words,
"Quit acting like
a *****."
Ever since, there has
been and itch to
punish myself.
I'm not Freud, but
maybe that's why I
drink so much.
Happy Mother's Day
Mom.
So many poems
and stories
have gone unwritten
due to fear of not being good enough
How awkward
the situation
in retrospect,
how imperfect
the setting.

An act,
an intimate
thing
cut off.

whose
memory
refused to fade.

After
so many years
why does this
fractured
incomplete
thing still
occupy
the choicest
of place of
my thoughts?                                                                   Jon York   2021
I feel as though loving me
Induces the same feeling
As work does

I feel like you
Can’t wait to go
Home and escape that crazy mess

I feel like I was always
Given a two week notice
Right before they leave

I feel like it always
Feels like its all a
Requirement

And I know it is,
I understand,
I feel like that with me too

So I am sorry
I made you feel that way,
Truly
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