Each dull wheeze
— half-glass-filling lungs, tarred —
records my moments
like reel-to-reel tape
And the heart is a quivering branch
If not a paperweight
Pinning will and testament to the
desk

That plastic wine “glass”
turned out
to be
glass after all
My woman throws me punches
with the gentle touch
— all the virility —
of a little, lonely, old man
feeding bread
to ducks
Then goes to work on the meat of her hand
with the glass
Damages the nerves in her thumb
   tussle ensues
My arms are covered in blood
That two-penny copper smell

sister’s fella has anger issues
and wants a straightener
Tells me I need a job —
Is this not work?
If I had Molly’s blessing
I’d go to work on this *******
But she’s crying
And begs me not to
Begs him to calm down
I wanted to widow her
Her
And my bleeding wife

My mother dearly wanted  
to be Dorothy Parker.
She yearned for a taste of the power that comes
from a truly witty response.

She craved to deliver
A statement so powerful
and sardonic that it would terminate
all argument or discussion.

My proximity made me an easy target to practice on
as each of our arguments ended with a bon mot
delivered with the all the acerbic flourish of Bette Davis.

As I listened to her footsteps receding down the hallway
I had only to take one more breath
before the footsteps reversed direction
and - standing at the doorway to my room -
She would deliver another culminating witticism
turn, leave and repeat.

In the fifties and sixties an intelligent woman –
a single mother of three
with no high school diploma,
but a surfeit of imagination –
Savoured what little power she could find
even if it was a fiction, a delusion
or just a punchline sharp enough to draw blood.

You saved me.
You didn't need a mask to do so.
Yet when I see your eyes after a long day of crime
I see the pain you bear inside.
I will always kiss your pain away, baby.
And even though I'll never know the New York City skyline quite like you do,
I'll always stay nearby.
You don't need a web to keep me stuck on you.
Instead I'll try to keep your chin up until you finally can rest.
It might not be much, just know I'm doing my best.
I'm no hero myself, but I know I'm handling this the best I can,
and when you lay down beside me at the end of the night,
I'll kiss you.
I'll show you the tenderness you so desperately need, whether you admit it or not.
The scars on your body are the scars on my heart,
and I'll share your pain.
You are not doing this alone.
It is hard, but I am trying.
And I always will.
I'm not quite sure someone else could do this,
it's hard, I admit it.
But I'll always be here.
Partners in crime until the end of time.
What can I say?
Face it, tiger...
you just hit the jackpot.

Resumé'**

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

beholding
the tipping
Big Dipper,
with its
dangling
handle,
traverse a
midwinter
northern sky
rising
in concert
with a
steadfast
sword
wielding
Orion,
mooring
the southern
firmament,
I stand
atop a
splotch
of black
macadam,
straddling the
equidistant
expanse of
all
ascending
celestial
spheres

Music Selection
Charlie Parker
Estrellita

Oakland
1/23/15
jbm