I looked inside her head
Thought I'd see carousels, glitter *****
Unicorns juggling golden orbs
Glinting diamonds, chandeliered halls

But there was only sawdust, bits of straw
Knotted string, plasticene and beetles wings

Expectation is a foolish thing

Despite the surf conditions
I am going in, I am having the
last splash of the summer,
That’s filled with swimming,
the fragrance of the sunscreen,
and the laughter of the playing children
Despite the rolling of the thunder vikings

The dance of those umbrellas,
to the musical sound of the wind
I am going in,

The sea and salty breeze,
Would no longer moisturize my face,
The sand would no longer, tickle my toes
and soon the frigid winter chill will swallow us whole
Leaving the sandy beaches, completely deserted
With the remains of dead Sanderlings birds on the shore
and no more three-toed imprints left behind for us to enjoy.

so, I am going in the water

he was going to teach me how
to pick a lock and hot wire a car
but he went back to prison
I swear, he had a good heart
he was just livin’ the life he knew

adopted in infancy
an idyllic ranch life
going out barefoot and shirtless in the snow
to feed the horses
still, divorce happens
his mother got custody
but blanked out in permissiveness
allowing him whatever
she wanted to play good cop
as divorced parents sometimes do
he would disappear for a week
communing in the canyons; survival skills
drinking water by the rocks
checking jack rabbits for spots
“everything is seasonal” he would tell me
when his mother remarried a drunkard
my friend would don dark clothing and a ski mask
to rob his drunken step dad every payday
to put food on the table
you see, he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

leading a life of drugs
and not just using
he could drink his stuff but also liked Perrier
a life of crime
store front window smash and grabs
in stolen cars
getting involved with big time dealers
still, I swear he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

once asked him why
he never offered me drugs
“Why would I?” he replied
you see, a friend would never do that
he would jump up and say, “No!”
if I pretended to reach for a cigarette
--a regular cigarette
he knew well their addictive nature
knew his lungs were tweeked
and didn’t want me to ruin my voice
I had a beautiful voice
he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

sent to the fire camps up north
in his element in the woods
at peace with himself out in nature
knowledgeable, skillful, personable
upon release they told him
"stay clean till November"
he would have a job waiting for him
he had a good heart
but went back to the life he knew

the last time in prison
he “stuck” someone
it scared him because this time
he didn’t feel anything
didn’t ask him what he meant
we never talked about it again
still, I swear he had a good heart
just livin’ the life he knew

he was in the hospital
last time we talked
he knew he was dying
his sister told me he was scared
it’s been a long time
but I think he was in his twenties
a life of hard times
a death in regret
surely God knew
he had a good heart
he was just livin’ the life he knew

he had low-grade
tattoos on his neck
and his clothes
wore transparency.
beneath his eyes
held a dying sun.
he spoke in thanks
and respect, the cuts
upon his wrists called
reached a finger out
and called my eyes
to say hello,
he spoke in gratitude
for the smoke i gave him.
he smelled like cigarette
stained couch cushions
he spoke a respectable
ebonic intellect.
his fingernails
were unswept
floor trim
and his teeth
were smashed
dinner plates
at his mother house.
departing he said
thank you
and i offered him
a cigarette for the road
and he refused and said
“for talking to me”

New Clothes, New Beginnings
In my mother’s house nothing went to waste
Our old uniforms were turned inside out and color dye
and here I am talking about back to school shopping already.

With my daughter it’s all brand new supplies and clothing.
And here I am mapping out emotions in the midst of everything
  I remember my gathered leg puffy *******, which matched my uniform.
those puffed legs ******* prevented me from playing a game of double Dutch,
Hopscotch and climbing the monkey bars, as you know the saying goes

The higher the monkey climbs the more him expose. But not in my case
the more I climb those bars, the more I was exposing my ***
or worse totally humiliated, by the hem of my garments
and once again this time it wasn’t for healing, but for the teasing

Used tea- bags drying out on the windowsill, ready to be used a second time.
My mother would say, about ten more uses still left within these bags.
New soles on my younger brother hand- me- down shoes with new shoe laces
This caused him to have eight hundred dollars’ worth of braces
No New clothes, no new beginning but a visit to the orthodontist
In my mother house nothing went to waste.

Some say metaphors are
a refuge for the inarticulate,
a maisonette for the
narrow minded.

Others, may feign indignation
at such a lowly art.
a sometimes mansion for the
oft times creatively bankrupt.

I - as a lover of metaphor
couldn't give the tiniest of *****--
in my a two up two down
with outside toilet and tin bath.