I call last summer
the "Summer of Smoothies"
for the usual ones made of fruit
and for those kind of men,
you know,
the smooth-talking types.

I liked the thick ones,
especially with yogurt as a base
and with some sort of berry.
I would sip them slowly while swinging
my feet off of the old suspension bridge
that stretched wide across the quiet gorge.

I liked the tall ones too
since I never liked dating any of the short ones
who made me feel like
I belonged with that river in South America.
Not tall, dark, and handsome, though.
Tall and nerdy.
But I couldn't tell you why.

Every morning you would run past me
as I day dreamt in the sun on my bridge
and I wondered
why you never changed your route.
Every morning I quietly sipped my smoothie
and hoped that
it was me.

I'm not sure what
If anything
Gives me the authority to say this
Yet
I can't help but notice the color has left your cheeks
And the starlight is missing from your eyes.

On any other day
I'd keep this to myself but
The sun is beaming down and
There is no trace of its life
In yours.

I want to wrap my arms around you
And cup your head in my hand
And whisper
It's going to be ok.

I want to set down my newspaper
Toss my coffee in the garbage
And listen to your story.

But like every other passenger
Waiting for this train
I will ignore your sorrows
And hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

it doesn’t take a genius to understand grammar
“i before e, except after c”
to know the difference between
a comma
and a semicolon
but words in parentheses should not count.

books
letters
poems
songs
parentheses parentheses

used to explain something
an after thought
an “i didn’t think of this before
but i have now.”
and words in parentheses really should not count.

it does take a genius to understand people
or more specifically you
and why you did it.
(i love you)
(i’m doing this for you)
(i’m cleaning up)
(i’m better now)
words in parentheses just should not count.

You’re the only one who could ever
pull off a double chin, my dear.
It frames your face
permitting asymmetrical shadows
to bounce off the loud bump of your nose
and stories to lie with in its folds.

And yet, here I am
Modern day Hera
Betrayed
And still standing.

Like the ruins of an abandoned civilization
Still strong, still beautiful,
If I may be so immodest.
Limestone having crumbled from fortified walls.
Columns having fallen and tumbled down hills
Caked with dry mud.

Like Chrysanthemum petals manipulated
By the clammy fingers
Of bored flower girls.
Dried flakes littering
Lacey white dresses.

Oh, what it could be like
To take vengeance on my
Zeus
The destruction around me
The broken bouquets.
Would I feel power?
Strength?

Or would I still be standing,
Beautiful, and
Alone?

‘Twas a normal Sunday morning
In the town of Maryville
No person knew what was to come
Or whom that man would ****.

Rev’rend Winters read his sermon
And preached ‘bout happiness
They heard a pop, and then a click;
A shot went through his chest.

The gunman got the bible first
The book turned to confetti
The congregation was aghast
They thought this skit was petty.

Then they learned the awful truth
Their reverend was shot dead
Two men dragged the murderer down
To ensure he had not fled.

‘Twas a tragic day in Maryville
For those who made it out
They keep those who didn’t in their prayers
And for that there is no doubt.

True love is buoyant.  It floats and balances
On the surface tension of something unpredictable
And exciting.  It is not unlike a kitchen sponge
Used to soak up messes, though messes vary
From situation to situation.  Sponges absorb everything, good and bad,
Until they are full to the brim with moisture and purpose.  
Then, with a small action, everything is released
Into the world closing the gap between
Peace and hatred.  Sponges are ordinary household objects
That are normally overlooked as easily as one
Overlooks a secret smile exchanged between lovers.
Sponges can even be moldy but  are still beloved objects
In the hands of an optimist.  Love and sponges make you do crazy things,
Like cleaning up an entire gallon of milk with a single one
Or bungee jumping just because he is.
This may be hard to picture, love being filled
And squeezed back out especially if you are trying to remember
Love as happily ever after.  But love is give and take, some filling
And some squeezing, depending on what has swelled up inside the sponge.