falling like monkeys
out of the trees, red, yellow
and orange. Pouring down
on me, a blanket of colored

leaves. Sticking to the sidewalk,
wet from last night's rain. Hanging
like a goblin on the window
pane. Clogging up the

gutters. Dangling like silver
tinsel on my half moon
shutters. Piling up in my backyard
like a mountain of laundry. I rake them

and I bag them. They only fall back
down. I blow them with the electric
blower. And they still come back
around. They're all over my deck and

woven in my hair. They must be
building a nest in there! Swirling
like confetti, they tease.
Leaves! Leaves! Leaves!

a binky in her mouth,
like a mint cigarette, hoping
******* on the rubber ******
will quiet her down just

a little. She's a prickly opuntia,
an irascible radical, a fanatical
sphere. You cannot soften her
blow by closing the window. She'll

rise through the floorboards
towards you as you slumber. Ride
you like a four-wheel Hummer,
leaving tracks on your back. No

escape. She'll squash you in rhinestone
stilettos like a concord grape. Turn you
into crimson wine. Drink you up with
a plastic plate of roasted swine.

to me. He listens to them
spill their problems. Falls asleep
with pills he stores in his bedroom
drawer. Flirts with the ladies

in Rome. A husband and
a father. Has two homes, one up
north and one down south.  Drones
over dinner.  He's grown thinner

with age. But easy to engage. He likes
*** loud, but his woman soft as a fleece
bathrobe. Travels the globe. He's a
cartoon character wearing baseball

caps, flapping his gums in-between
afternoon naps. I read his lines,
and he mine. And that is that. One thing
I'll say - we never fall flat.

to me? The thick cherry
gloss is brushed on her cracked
lips. Bent over the table she slips
on the dangling conversation

wearing a red pencil smile drawn
on from this morning. She takes
a heavy breath from her burning
cigarette. We look like two

silhouettes against the
paisley prints covering the walls
behind the smoke screen. I nod
as if listening, while sipping

***** and lime, and eying
my cell for the time. And my head
is on the ceiling that's peeling
like layers of an onion, dangling

like the conversation, but not breaking
off. She streaks the glass, leaving an
imprint with her mouth. I hail the waiter
for the check, so I can check out.

the mobile, the one with the
elephants riding on wheels. Box
the toy clown, that smiles even
turned upside down, the little jumper

you tied to the door and the
swing, the red yo-yo on a string. All the
Dr. Seuss books that rhyme every
line. The yellow blanket with holes,  

the size 1 shoes with leather
soles. Thomas the tank videos,
that matched the painted wooden trains
with the connected track, that now

has several cracks. Put away your sing-
song voice and patty-cake hands,
the nursing bra and stuffed lambs. You
can't keep him small. He's over six feet tall!

in a quilted cornflower blanket
and set it on fire. I'll puncture
a hole in the thick of it, till it
flattens like a tire. I'll package

it and ship it off to sunny
Mexico, taking with it all the ice
and the heavy snow. I'll rip pages
off the calendar till May,  

taking November through April
minus two days. Leaving Thanksgiving
and Christmas there to stay. Or else
I'll hibernate like a bear and sleep

the months away, rolled up like
cigarettes in the mountains of Tibet
till the frosty air makes my breath dance
pirouettes on the stratosphere.

on her apple cheeks
between her egg white peaks
and the cherry rose
she calls her nose.

Planting kisses
in her wheat spaghetti hair
scented like ocean
air.

Planting kisses
on the crook of her nape
tasting like strawberry
crepes.

Planting kisses
down her spine till
she tingles, on her toes
and on her wrinkles.

Planting kisses
on her wispy arms,
that spread like wings
and her open palms.

Planting kisses
on her bellybutton, and
fingertips. So many
places to kiss, not only lips.