Bubbles (2009)

He speaks, and my ears bleed.

I imagine his words
as bubbles rising in a pond
while I lie flat on the bottom
and watch them float away.
Fish visit and communicate
with gentle nibbles on my neck,
then they swim away. I can tell
they were only looking for food
or they would stay with me and help me
try to make sense of this
confusing torrent of bubbles.

I wish I could quit listening.
I could give him words, I'd like to,
but that would only be trading
hate for hate, and I won't do that.
We should trade better words, but then
he'd have to have some compassion
(or indeed, any heart at all)
but his mouth keeps droning on and on
repeating the same old harsh words
like screaming an incantation.
It sounds like a madman gargling.

Still on my back in the pond,
I watch the bubbles carefully
to discern what they mean
and how I should respond.
Are they signs of danger?
Are they simply harmless air?
I hold myself still in the water, angry,
fearing I risk self-destruction
if I fail to pay attention
even for a single moment.

His words snag flesh like hooks.
I wish I could yank on his words
as if they were a fishing line
and see him tumble into the pond
where he must lie with bated breath
and watch the last of my long regret
drift away with the bubbles.

Garden Party (2009)

I attended your garden party
uncertain of your invitation
I saw the garish blooms you grew
and listened while you told about
the problems of your latest projects
wordlessly I listened

I saw tanks of helium

and clowns, inflating red balloons
one small boy who lost his cried
I sympathized with him and wished
that I could fly away from here
following his balloon

a company at your command
performed your little one-act play
I overheard the words "revealed
on stage in acts demonstrative
one encounters characters
more intimate than life"

I thought, how apropos the words
how poignantly ironic
given our previous dramas 

you moved on to other roles
and left me with few words
I'd rewrite if I could

how comforting a garden party
in one's own well-planned garden
how difficult to know one's lines
when one's script is withheld
and how it all makes one wary
of future invitations

Fair Desert (2009)

Gazing on the moonlit desert
Again I long to drag my limbs
Across the gentle curvature
Of beloved dunes
To set up camp by the sagebrush
And hear the gentle whispering
Of wind through yellow flowers
Dreamlike, drunk on this fair image
(Or perhaps the altitude)
I affirm the truth as written
By a learned aviator
The beauty of this desert lies
Not only in its appearance
But also in the precious moisture
Hidden among the succulents

Thanks to Antoine de St. Exupery for the inspiration.

Old Bachelor

Dinner came early: lunch was cold, 

Breakfast a fading memory, 

So I linger over dessert. 
I face a long and bitter evening 

Before I climb the stairs to rest.

I savor each sweet bite. 

Haiku

The heart that is old 

Yearns for bright company 

Of hearts that are young 

  

Words on learning the death of an old friend (2015)

We hardly talked since school together

Though we caught up in an offhand way

Mediated by social media 

And I suppose we were never great friends 

But I was affected to hear you'd passed 

And I thought about us in our chemistry class, 

Secretly retrofitting Erlenmeyer flasks 

For pursuit of a less appropriate chemistry 

And I remembered our talks by the window 

When you shared advice in a brotherly way, 

Half-smiling and glinting when you spoke 

As if you were daring a contradiction, 

Rough and pointed and comfortingly sure 

Like one of your beat-up boots. 

And I looked up to you, how couldn't I, 

Tall as you are, or were. 

They'll have to go custom-made to fit 

You inside one of those cushioned boxes, 

And I know you've left your family 

But they'll pray for you, and so will I, 

I'll pray that your journey from death to life 

Goes quickly, because I can't imagine 

You stuck in the dark for long. When 

We meet again to catch up, bye and bye, 

I hope you'll save me a seat by a window. 

Football in a Loop (2015)

I mean to, I mean to

As if all my old broken vows weren't 

Already flagstones on my road to hell 

I'm maintaining, I tell myself 

This is just a rebuilding year 

But I missed the draft and I'm knocked on my ass 

Just contemplating the new season 

Life is just a game we play 

It's just a game and I don't have to play 

Not if I don't want to 

And the line looks mean and the field looks muddy 

But it's silly, all these measurements 

To tell me where the ball is at 

I know how to carry a ball 

I can see the goalposts from here 

They're tall and far away but I can see them 

And I know I need plenty of hydration 

But if I'm not running to catch a pass

Or slugging it out on the defensive line 

I can get by with less

The bench is cool and comfortable 

And I can see well enough where I am 

The players with their face guards 

Like masks in a chorus, my teammates,

And they're singing, play, play 

Because they know me and they want me in the game 

But I ran a play or two before 

And I got knocked around pretty bad 

They tell me to shake it off, and I say, no

I say no, the way I am, it got me here 

To where I am today. 

Where I am today 

Is a two-room apartment with mold on the walls 

And a car that works just well enough 

To get me to my dead-end job 

To earn money to pay for auto repair. 

What will I pass on to members of my team, 

My brothers, fresh-faced rookies, and coaches 

Who stuck with me always when I was down 

What will I tell them about my dreams 

Look where dreams get you, I'll say.  

But I'm already saying it. My failure to play 

Means I'm already telling my team to give up. 

Hell is on the horizon and I 

Can see the smoke rising, blotting out 

My view of the end zone. I need to rise up 

Above the smoke and the mud and the noise 

I need to get away from the commentators 

Second-guessing my every strategy 

I need to get this game straight in my head 

Because if I don't, I might as well 

Sit back down and nurse my injuries 

Maybe the water boy will listen 

As I tell him how it used to be 

Before the smoke swallowed up the game 

And how hurting my leg ended my career. 

I don't want to be an old athlete. 

I'd rather be young, but I'm too old now 

But I can still be an athlete. Better than rotting 

My life out on the bench. 

I need to reach the goal. 

And I mean to, I mean to.