Monday, October 5, 2009

Close

Doors. Boxes. Deals. Cabinets. Bottles. Stores.
Petals. Minds.

Windows. Trunks. Accounts. Pantry. Gates. Street.
 Past. Eyes. 

Screens. Laptops. Highways. Faucets. Bags. Houses.
 Future. Mouth.

Drawers. Books. Bidding. Fridges. Bags. Arenas. 
Opportunities. Hands.

Garage. Pianos. Captions. Microwaves. Lids. Meetings.
Letters. Arms. 

Curtains. Suitcase. Restaurant. Oven. Milk Carton. Investigation.
Conversations. Arteries, valves, veins and ventricles. 

Too much, too close. 

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Dairy Queen

It's not a holiday weekend here, like at the Dairy Queen. 
I'm not having a girls' night with 
my friends while we wait for the 
men, doing their duty as always. We
let them go in the Spirit of the weekend. 


I didn't iron your dress-shirt for you before you left
because you didn't wear one. 
I didn't watch you shave in the mirror
to give yourself that all-important clean-cut 
look after a lazy day. 
Nor did I smile to myself at the pride
left in the scent of your shaving lotion.

You didn't leave with your grandfather and brothers
but went out with different boys to "live it up"
instead of sitting still...still...still.
I didn't sigh to myself that yes, here was Heaven
a little sooner, watching you 
walk down the path and look back.

I'll never see you at the Dairy Queen on a Saturday night,
just like the others in your white shirt and suit--
tie and tacks and pinstripes and expressions the only
outward feature that distinguishes you
from the other like-purposed men.