babe, even if you see me
standing on the doorstep. I'm a half
step into another world. My breath's
hanging in the air and the wind

blowing through my hair is just
a visual of a woman caught on film,
the shutter of a camera lens. This scene
you capture and post diagnosed

in a still frame signing your last
name is a proxy. I'm in Greece and
in Spain, just stepped off the
plane. In a villa overlooking the sea,

sipping mimosas, eating brie, shaded
only by the palms. Just the thought
of it calms. No, I'm not here. Babe,
I'm upstairs.

and for lunch eat
fettuccini wrapping the vanilla
strands tight as bird nests in
my hands. I want to lay out in

the sun till I'm golden brown
like a loaf of bread and dip and
splash till I'm waterlogged
and lobster red. Don't call me in

for dinner. I'm listening
to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Big wheels
keep on turning. I'm burning up
the old 45's. It's here I am

alive. The leaves don't fall
off the trees. All I wear is
shorts/no sleeves, flip-
flops and a wide-brim hat,

sitting in a lounge chair with
wooden slats. Sipping frozen
drinks out of paper straws. Life is
better put on pause.

for her, from acorns on
the oak tree, pelting her deck
like a roughneck, to her saggy
pertless breast, that cannot sit

straight on her chest, to strands of
her honey hair clogging the drain
in her bathroom tub. So, the water's
moving slower than a slug as

she's lifting the plug. It's hard
getting old. She's cold all the time
as the sun falls from the sky
and blackness starts at five. Leaves

fall with her, and wither like her
aging skin. If she had back her younger
days she'd fall for the boy next store,
not ******* the kitchen floor.

in tight quarters for hours
like sheep, with scorching heat
beating down. Following
the herds walking around

the ropes like
a zombie for a five-
minute wonky ride that
shakes your inside like a

bowl of strawberry jelly. Strapped
smashed together in narrow
seats is a man with a big belly
that shakes like a bowl of

strawberry jelly. In pitch
blackness surrounded by
screams. Ten thousand dollars
for the American dream!

disjointed people. You're heads
and I'm tails. I'm a warm breeze. You’re
a gusty gale. I'm slow and you're
fast. You walk right past

me, taking the lead. Like a herd of
bison, disappearing over the
horizon.   I'm bottom and you're
top. I'm the first floor. You're

the elevator. You're moon and
and I'm sun. Your day ends. Mine’s
begun.  I'm summer and you're
winter. We splinter as a broken

tree. And fly off as the autumn
leaves.  I'm the sea and you're
the shore.  We're a paper torn in
half. You're edited and I'm the rough draft.

cold as New England
winters. Fallen like wood from
an axe in shards shaped and
sharp as tacks in my back

yard. My pieces are pine
needles spread over a patch of
yellow blanket. Cause I look like
litter to the fox and the hound

as they go. I dry to a dullish
brown and blend in with the ground
as the sun thawed the snow. Men
trod with boots and squirrels

paw with their claws, leaving me
turned up as autumn leaves. I
bottom out in the eaves. A paste of
mud and stick is me.

tonight, in the backyard. They're
falling hard from the sky, like bowling
***** squashing apple pie. They snort
and grunt from a mile, landing on top

of each other in a pig pile. Ma says
I'm mistaken. I say prepare ye, for
some bacon. I took out the frying pan
and turned on the overhead fan. Smoke

will fill this tiled kitchen. But it'll be
finger-lickin’. Men and women will
stop by for a whiff of pig fry. Morning
sun chased the wheel cheese

moon. Bellies swell like hot
air balloons. When life hands you pigs
mountains in size for lunch we will
serve ham sandwiches and fries!