I used to have a friend from
New York that was a lawyer, she once
dated a famous NBA star.
We drank ***** together.
She was a bit smug, but smart and
funny—a dangerous combination.

One evening, we decided to
go to a neighborhood grocer that
sold spirits and wine.
She had a black schipperke named
Bruno.
One drunken night I dubbed
him the Senator, after Ted Kennedy,
another smart and funny drunk.

We called a cab to get
more *****. I put Anna’s
Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses
on; I grabbed a broom handle and
hooked the Senator
up to his leash.
I said, “Look, look, I’m blind and Teddy is
my seeing eye dog.”
Anna laughed and said,
“Oh we must bring him along.”
She used the word, “must” a lot.
The cab pulled up and the
act began.

I worked the cane, and the dog out the
door, with those big white
sunglasses covering my eyes.
We piled in the cab,
and
tore off into
the sweltering July night.
We pulled into the
grocery store parking lot
Anna told the cabbie to wait.
She was beat red and big tears of
joy flowed freely down her face.
I grabbed her arm and said,
“Quit laughing, or they’ll think it’s a joke;
I’m ******* blind; it isn’t supposed to be funny.”
She laughed harder.

We walk through the sliding doors,
I’m waving the broom handle back and forth on
the floor.
The Senator immediately proceeds to
**** on a display case of crackers.
Anna cackles,
we walk on like we didn’t just see Ted’s
indiscretions. We headed for
the *****.
Anna yells, “Did you see what the
Senator did back there?”
I say, “Of course I didn’t see it honey,
I’m blind, what did he do.”
She screamed, “He ****** all over that display case.”
"I know, I know—let’s get the
***** and get the hell out of
here before they kick us out.”
Just then, the Senator slipped out
of his collar and began to
run up and down the aisles.
I chased him, he dodged me.
Anna tripped and fell, she laughed until
she wet herself.
That ******* dog had
more moves than an NFL running back.
I finally cornered him by the
milk and butter section; I reached down to
grab him, and the little
******* bit me.
I smacked his nose and said,
“Bad Dog—Bad, Bad Dog.”
He bit me again.
I finally had him in my arms;
by then, those ridiculous looking
sunglasses were on top of
my head.
I lost the broomstick, and dragged the leash and
collar behind me.
We made it to Anna’s and drank into the
night. Most poets wouldn’t know how to end
a poem like this
but I do,
bow wow.

It poured a heavenly rain today
The roads washed anew
Little streams danced and slid down the alleys to the music rains play

The Gulmohar petals in orange red hues
Lay strewn on the pavement grey
Perched atop the green leaves
Glorious they looked in the warm sun rays

A walk in the evening mellowed rains
The tiny raindrops fell gently upon my face And raincoat peach
Luminous  under the street lamps
Silvery Rain-beams dance

𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉  
𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.  
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚— 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚.
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒑  
𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎.