When the final bell rings
and the workers scamper home,
greet me with salty kisses.

While the potatoes stew
and the fish bakes,
kiss me with salty kisses.

When we're beat
and watching tv,
peck me with salty kisses.


And while we lay together
alone at last,
give me salty kisses
and i'll be forever yours.


Sept 21, 2012

The knock was broken, sad
But in that broken knock
I knew I heard you

I hesitated.

The handle clicked
the door swung open

You were drunk
dressed in a green party dress
face to the floor
bouncy blonde hair covering your head.

You straightened yourself up
smoothed your dress
parted your hair
stumbled into my room.

Your pale face betrayed your red rimmed eyes
from tears past.
I tried not to be conceited
thinking they were for me
but secretly I knew they were

I let you flop on my bed
and lay motionless.
turning off the light
I moved beside you.

Its funny how it goes,
how within the throes,
of passion and of death
One is aside,
another gains breath

I leave with a stumble,
and a look behind.
And I find myself fumbling,
for cleanliness, and absolution

And to the One
who was shuffled
and moved,
with wires crossed--

I do not know the meaning of this,
or the path which my feet tread.
And maybe with some dread,
She moves in your stead.

Did you think it would last?

I recalled those 4am calls with a shudder,
after you had been drunk several hours.
I was just a travelling companion,
part of your caravan of hurt lovers.

You said I was the only one,
but what was stopping you from action?
I could have visited you everyday,
but you stopped calling.
Except for at 4am.

Was it a lie?

I hope you're reading this right now,
so you know what I think.

I've found a girl who likes me,
and guess what? I'm only number 3.
Not 3, or 4, or maybe 5.
I know my place with her, there is no lie.

So now, as the plane is taking off,
and I'm leaving it all behind,
good luck with that life of yours.
I hope you make it past the feeding trough.

I stood across the room from you today.
Grey sweater, hugging.
Aquamarine, clinging.
Jeans, scarred from mainstream mechanics.
I remember these things. From before, I mean. Was it not long ago that I touched these things tenderly? Did I not lift your shirt to kiss your belly? Didn’t I pull this same sweater from you to caress your arms?
You accused me once of not remembering the time, special in it’s time. You’re a man! It was not that long ago? You must remember!
At the time, yes, I forgot. The memories were a brief passing in my mind. Oh yes, I remember, I said; I was barely recalling. At the time, I recounted what I knew.

Now, I would love to have these times back. Should I ever find myself in this situation again, should you be there or not, I will use the very depths of my being to feel you. I shall remember what it’s like to next to you. I shall command my thoughts to focus. To not forget your hand on my neck, your head on my shoulder.

A smile! Was that glance mine? Your head down; I see you laughing.
Perhaps she is remembering a funny moment with her sister? Maybe her father has reminded her of something he said? Perhaps.
Perhaps she is remembering when we kissed. Perhaps she has seen my contemplation, she is embarrassed.  Has she recalled the time we laughed? The time we held each other; talking, without looking. Perhaps.

The last time I spent with you, all was as I wished it would be. Your mother made us supper; both were very pleasant.

The sausage we ate- it was dry. This is a real mennonite meal, said Scott. Maybe I should have agreed. I did not know what the mennonites ate.  

Zoolander, said her sister. I shall go to the movie store, boyfriend in tow. I went to go with them, but you suggested I didn’t.

The player hummed with anticipation.

The movie was mediocre. The colors were ugly. The theme, too much of this world. I laughed at some scenes, but scolded myself for doing so. Why did I laugh at something I knew so much about? Was I nervous? Surely, men are not that funny.
But, you found it amazing; I did as well.

I was finished with having this space between us. I was done. Time to move. And so, I did.
I walked to you. You were talking to a friend. I don’t think you noticed.
We’re playing your favorite, I said. She nodded and told me she was excited.

Did you look at me then? Did our eyes meet when you were excited? Your friend was there, but did she know? Was she curious?

I walked away. At least I have said something. At least one more chip is gone from this wall. Soon, another brick.

Anger excites the nerves of the internet.
A young boy,
5 or 6,
beaten by 3 men.
A hate crime, says the video.
Bullies.
Rascists.
Child abuse.

There is a crowd.
men and women, young and old.
Some join as time progresses.
The child is afraid.
He is crying out, hoping for a saviour.
He is holding back the flowing blood
coming from the break in his head.

And no one moves from the crowd.

And this video circulates.
15 millions views.
30 million views.
Disgust runs up the spines of the American,
sitting in their chairs, watching a crisp screen.
Comforted by their safety.

There is no bully for them.
No child abuse.
And so they watch what happens,
just as the crowd.
just as the man behind the camera.

And no one is moved from the crowd.

Euphoria.
Its waking up from a deep sleep, warm.
Its consuming a large meal,
seeing a good friend,
Sharing a laugh.
Passing a beautiful woman on the street,
creating something with your own hands.
It's entering a woman,
it's being intimate.

It's falling in love,
and ultimately letting go.
When I touch silk,
when I touch your skin.
When I see a star
and think about my atomity.

Its my bed when I'm tired,
its a hug when I'm sad.
A place to rest my head when I'm afraid,
excitement on a snow day.
Its listening to good music,
dancing mindlessly with friends.
Telling your father he's your friend,
telling your mother you love her.

Its 20 dollars found in your coat pocket,
nailing a skill you can't quite get down.
It's jumping up,
and running without pain.
It's christmas day.
Its reading a good book,
its telling the truth.
Its Pay day,
and new technology.  
The smell of a new book,
a memory with a loved one.

These are the things I feel now.

Merrick 2012