Monthly Archives: June 2009

Leave the Why to the Philsophers

it is not the job of the poet
to tell you why
when you place
a box of stuff
on the curb
marked free
in permanent black ink
nobody wants what’s inside.
But if you mark
the same box
five dollars
it will be gone
in fifteen minutes.

.


A Year and Some Change

you smell like sand
i think
as i lay my cheek
on your arm.

we grow farther apart
the more
we know
so that i miss you most
when i’m with you.


Looking For the Right Thing Among All the Other Things

The cheese grater, a stiff
slice of Parmesan.  The hand
rolled cigarette.  The knobs
on the stove all turned
to off.  The bottle of Budweiser,
its label corner
peeled.  Your dirty
fingernails.  Pistachios
in a cellophane bag, the shells
in the ashtray
overflowing.  The blackening
lung. The beginning
of your end.
The ruffled skirt, the wristwatch,
and the glass mustard jar
with a butter knife stuck
in it. The Bicycle playing
cards and the yet to be
sliced baguette.


Blue Devils

I called you on the telephone
and while the phone rang
I imagined
you out walking
at night.  Your feet
in cream colored Converse,
crunch the gravel
at the side of the road.
There’s a ditch to your left.
Traffic passes intermittently
to the right.
I watch the headlights approach
through your eyes.
Night traffic
has its own sounds.

You walk by
Slurpee cups and their
dirty red straws, a Budweiser
bottle, a black sock
and about a billion
cigarette butts.

At home
your phone is ringing.
Your cat glances up.
You won’t answer.

Neither will
he.