land lines, phonographs, telex, and hatracks
cassettes, telegraph, tape drives and 8 tracks,
pagers, zip drives, typewriters and ****,
floppy discs, slide projectors, and mainframes,

boom boxes, slide rulers, pagers and portable tv,
laser disks, cartridges, matrix printers and CRT
pdas, walkman, fax machines and reel-to-reel
and you now tell me, my love, your love is real

father woke me at 5 o'clock  
with donuts and chocolate milk.
later, we packed out to the dock
with rods and reels and all our fishing ilk.

with hooks and every fish delight:
worms,  flies, spoons, minnows and crankbaits,
we were well prepared for their fight,
but the hardest part is having to wait.

you should know i put on my own worms
though i can't pretend it's not gross
it is not that i'm afraid of germs
it is that i hate slimy things the most.

i waved my feet over pier's edge,
appreciative of the world's flow,
but please hear my sincerest pledge,
if we caught fish, i probably wouldn't go.

I remember fondly
Those raucous chlorine days
Of shriveled hands
And laughs with friends,
Under those hot summer rays.

There, we played pirates,
Jousting with our noodles,
We walked ship's plank,
Played shark in tank,
And dove for treasured jewels.

We made great whirlpools and
Had  submarine races.
We belly flopped
And caught the "croc",
With smiles on our faces.

how should one measure pain?

in magnitude, as despair, dejection, affliction,
in breadth, as suffering, torment, sorrow,
in extent, as hunger, cold, want,
in frequency, as heartaches,
in degree, as a burn,
in duration, as a candle melts or in clock ticks,
in amount, as in platefuls of food or too much advice,
or in capacity of living?

i have a new job it seems.
it's at a funeral parlor.
it's not the job of my dreams,
but it will do for a starter.

i write poetry to keep myself awake,
and i need the job quite badly,
so i can't afford, sadly, the same mistake

it was last month i lost my gig
for drinking on the job,
but the jury was probably rigged,
'cause it's not like i'm a slob

it's drinking that makes me happy.
it's not like i take hard drugs.
though it may appear quite sappy
i'm not like those other lugs

the job is pretty simple:
each hour i walk around.
i check the locks, i punch a clock;
i don't even walk the grounds.

is there really need for my job?
it's not like the dead will walk
or there's anything to rob
'cause there's nothing here in stock.

the lights just flickered right now.
a thunder storm is approaching,
but there's not a cloud, i avow,
so is subject worth broaching?

today is tuesday; i return
from making my rounds and found
something strange. there were lights burning
when there's no one else around

it's later; lights were on again.
i'm starting to think i'm crazy,
'cause the doors are locked, but then
i know i can be quite lazy

later, there's casket in that room,
which was not in there before.
i do not want to portend gloom,
so i quickly closed the door

but i find that sight quite haunting
and i am more than a bit scared.
what is that lone casket wanting?
are my faculties impaired?

to those who do not like rhymes,
it does not mean that you're uncouth
or you're unsophisticated
or a product of your youth

it may mean you don't read aloud
to hear how the words might sing,
rushing words quite unabated,
to hear joy the sounds might bring

if you dare to heed my advice
and hear angels start to sob,
fascinated, captivated,
orchestrated, consecrated,
the poetess has done her job

in the poorest parts of the world,
you will find smiling faces.
so why are there no lips curled
with those with many graces?