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look over at
the empty passenger seat

and imagine
you’re there and wink
as internal asides
chime out loud

showing you
eyes that go

where all the words
have fallen short
or priceless, last night
when the couple at the table
next to us at this little pizzeria
unexpectedly paid for our dinner
after I was fairly sure we had been
disrupting them, being well, six -
talkie, wiggly, silly, droppy...
we thanked them and then he said
you have a really well-behaved kid
which was, like, a really big deal
as most days I feel like
an inept kitten herder
except my herd is one
or two, if you count feistypaws
think they both don’t know
I’m the legit pack leader
and are vying for alpha
against one another, but
maybe I’m not doing
so bad
after all

after that
we made penny wishes
in the fountain outside
which is something I
never do alone, because generally
way jaded re: assigning my lofties to
depreciating currency deposits
in chlorinated public fountains

his: for me to get a thousand dollars
(to share with him)
mine: for him and me to have
all the love in the world
and for everyone everywhere
to be happy, free and get what they need

decided to toss in another penny
in case that sounded greedy
to the public plumbing fairy

and still my
insecurity is processing
whether they really thought
he was well-behaved and
enjoyed watching us or just
felt sorry for me
two-top charity...

I should prolly
take out my bad brain
that made me think that thing
and put in my good brain
as my kid likes to say
 Jul 10 T R Wingfield
Kaya
I might seem a bit mystic but I’m good at heart

As a small garden rakes over my eyes and a head digging in and scrapping away

She says,

My heart is like a cleft pomegranate
Bleeding crimson red,
And dripping every seed on the ground
It’s ripe and over-full,

My dissatisfied heart,
My heart it is more human than I,
More than life itself

Often
My heart cries but my eyes are dry,


And behold my friend
This is what I call my brief tragedy of flesh

So set me free and away
So I can lay at peace
I'm sorry for inviting myself I just wanted to spend more time with you
And if I'm in your way I'll stand in the corner and wait for you

Now I'm sorry to be a bother but do you think I can have some water
To wash away my insecurities but I know you'll give them back to me

I don't know what you want from me but I just want your company
Find what you're looking for and take it all from me

Walk in my shoes for a day I have nothing more to take
Come on just give me a break if not for me for goodness sake

While you're pushing me away remember what I say
You might think you'd be happy but I know that you'll be sorry

So take your time but don't be long give me a feeling that I belong
I know everything about this is wrong but I'm just not very strong
 Feb 28 T R Wingfield
Rozana
tonight, i drank
i drank
but not to quench a thirst
was it to forget or to remember
everything was as it was supposed to be
late afternoon sun lazily laid
soft and golden    
and long shadows
was it after those steps up the stairs
when i walked into a darkened room
to the bed that i didn't make, but we had shared
and the smell of you that hung
h e a v y
              in
                 the
                      air
like you had never left but almost like you were never there
is that what betrayed me
the nostalgia mixed with the absence of you
leaving me in an empty room

w a n t i n g

it is a broken promise, or one that you never made
Drunk poetry. Literally.
Years don't make wisdom
They just make old age
Generations have passed
Through the turned pages
Yet I'm no wiser
Than credulous kid of past
Who charged everything to heart
Whiling away the hours
No, the years don't make wisdom
They decelerate celerity of youth
Compromising clarity of Love
Years are but bricks building walls
Between factual and imagined calls
Between relations of understanding.
even in autumn
she wore flowers
in her hair

as if
they belonged
next to her beautiful
mind

like the daisies
belonged
growing within
the grass

she was an angel
in a summer dress
whispering
to me
her darkest secrets

like precious gifts
she spilt them
from her sweet tongue
into my mouth

and i knew
i would
never again
go hungry

as i ate

every

single

one
I need to write again, i feel it. In my chest, my heart. I feel it in the back of my throat. It aches so deliciously :)
I set goals in my early childhood.
I was smart and pretty
And so I seemed unstoppable.

I wanted to be a singer
I have a songster’s soul
But I lacked an instrument.
I could carry a tune, alright,
But only in basket, not on
Angel’s lyric wings.

I wanted to be a movie star.
Drama coursed my veins like blood,
But every door I managed to open
Led only to a filthy casting couch.
And those with honorable intentions
Somehow never looked my way.

I wanted to be a game show winner
And I was lucky enough to be on three.
Won a car which I quickly sold
And parting gifts I still enjoy.
But quiz shows are a youthful  game
And skills diminish with the years.

I wanted to marry only once
And live happy ever after.
For 20 years I lived that dream
But time wore out the fantasy
And bad advice led me to ponder
And finally, sadly, walk away.

I wanted to be Mother of the Year.
I threw exciting Birthdays
Was chairman of the PTA
Never missed the least event
But when my Angel turned 14
She told me that I ruined her life
By telling her she was beautiful.

I wanted to greet the year two thousand
I counted up when I was ten to see
If I had a chance to live that long,
And it seemed that I could do it.
The computers did not crash and
I met a long time goal at midnight.

I wanted a 50-year Gold Watch
And a happy retirement dinner.
I labored faithfully towards that end
Even though the path became
A quagmire of racist hate and envy
And I was let go at year 48 with
No benefits of any kind.

I’ve given up on setting goals
There’s just one left I want to meet.
I want to live a century
And list one hundred as my age.
I think that I can pull this off -
I’ll stubbornly just refuse to die.
ljm
Needed the cash more than I needed a Pontiac Firebird convertible.  I was broke.
 Dec 2019 T R Wingfield
Onoma
the ones that get away

will continue to do so, it's what

they're meant to do.

wildly flashing their silvery

contingency plans.

though sometimes it's when

they think they're only going

for a swim, do they drown.

that might be also what they're

meant to do.
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