Trinkets

(a kyrielle)

A shadow hidden at the back
of her dresser drawer caught my eye
the day the movers came. I thought:
we keep things though we don’t know why.

A hundred foreign coins, a stack
of travel documents signed by
some long-dead border guard who fought
to keep things though we don’t know why,

a broken pocket watch, a black-
and-white shot of a compound high
in India, crammed in a box
to keep things though we don’t know why.

Tracing the alligator track
around this lid, I think of my
own collections, what I just bought
to keep things though we don’t know why.

Time stands still in keepsakes. We track
our past with trinkets that defy
every explanation sought.
We keep things though we don’t know why.

*** Terms and conditions apply

*** Listen, we know everyone likes a
good deal, but good grief, we couldn’t afford
the rent on these posh New York offices,
or the mural in the executive
washroom, if we actually paid out
on this outrageous offer. So get real:
you are not eligible if you are
bald, foreign, introverted or stupid.
If you’re a chef or a plumber, no way.
Pro athletes need not apply. Same for cops.
We love hunky guys named Cole.  (Just kidding).
Actually, unless you’re a drug lord,
you are willing to bonk our CEO,
or you have a lawyer on six figures
you can lean over and kiss your tuckus.
It’s time for our massage. Have a nice day.

What won't wait

What won’t wait for you tonight? Take the car
and drive like Jehu through each stop sign far
across this sleeping town. Out of the mist
you carom down main, but draw no interest
from the wayward souls spat from Louie’s bar

too late and too far gone, their minds ajar.
No time to ask permission, or to spar
with strangers over places on a list;
     what won’t wait

is screaming at you here! Nothing can mar
such perfect clarity – the morning star
is crowning now. Now! Tonight you exist
only to be held by one tiny fist.
Leave the rest: the things we cannot plan are
     what won’t wait.

The hand you are dealt

A good friend will cause you pain today. She
will not see why even if you try to
explain. You will think you are going mad.

You will wish to kill someone. Try not to.
Your other children will suffer enough
without you compounding things. Suck it up.

Try to avoid awards ceremonies.
Jealousy is ugly. Schadenfreude
is also to be frowned upon. Mostly.

Church will become the worst hour of your week.
You will spend the whole time praying no one
turns around. God will appear not to care.

There are no trophies for surviving.
You will not sleep well tonight, or ever.
You would not trade places with anyone.


(a fortune-cookie poem, originally written for a prompt from Robert Lee Brewer over at Poetic Asides)

England's great tradition of painting

They were an hour late,
three likely lads in white shirts
with five cans of paint,
three drop cloths, brushes, rollers,
and, of course, a tea kettle.

Don’t mind us, Missus,
the blue-eyed leader declared,
patting my mum’s arm.
We’ll make ourselves right at home.
You won’t even know we’re here.

I watched from a chair
as they brewed a pot of tea
and surveyed their task.
"Looks a bit dodgy, dunnit?"
one said, and they all nodded.

That decided it.
“Back in the morning, sunshine!”
the oldest one winked,
and quietly handed me
the cards from the tea packet.

Hope Barn

(a rhyme royal)

A hundred Chinese lanterns cross the sky

with whimsy as the sun melts in the west.

Here in the field, our hostess wipes an eye

then throws her arms around each welcome guest

to whisper secrets she has cherished lest

they disappear like mist.  She is alive

tonight, amazed to see such crowds arrive.

(for the beautiful Hope Barn, who holds her history with grace and dignity)

Nuns and bacon

I’ve got shaving cream stuck on my

earlobe and a strand of dental floss

clinging to my right shoe.  That faint

smell of bacon comes from my briefcase,

where I absent-mindedly stashed what

I was supposed to give the dog when the

phone rang with a reminder of the doctor’s

appointment which I seem to have

forgotten in my confusion following the

unfortunate incident with the street sweeper

and the crocodile formation of

pre-schoolers crossing the divided highway.

CD seven of my new box set from the

library was playing at the time, something

about accepting life as it comes, so I

didn’t lay on the horn and instead smiled

at the gigantic nun waving her hands in the

central reservation.  The word “wimple”

got stuck in my mind and I spent the rest of my

drive thinking about rhymes for it, of which

there are precious few, which may partly

explain the paucity of decent nun poetry,

and also attempting to undress her in my

imagination, only to be thwarted at every turn

by a gleaming steel under-habit with a

big sign saying “For God’s sake, keep out!”

Felt a little better by the time I got to work,

especially when the receptionist winked

at me, but then I couldn’t stop imagining her

as a nun.  Weird.  Maybe if I’d gone to

Catholic school this wouldn’t be a problem,

which actually might just be the best reason

I have heard so far for supporting school vouchers.

I wonder if Jesus was ever late for work,

probably not while carrying bacon, and if Mary

Magdalene ever let him look under her robe.


A bit of stream-of-consciousness insanity to share with friends at the fabulous dVerse Poets Pub.

To have and to hold

To have and to hold, from this day forward,
for better, for worse… Glowing words uttered
haltingly, like lines from a high school play,
learned by heart, yet still alien. Today
is a necessary burden, offered

to assuage the desires of well-mannered
society. A photo-op prepared
with eight-by-tens for all to take away
     to have and to hold

forever. But in truth, what just occurred
in this place, the flowers, lace, high-collared
dress, unity flame, champagne toast, DJ,
first dance, are but the entrance toll they pay
for life to which they have not yet matured,
     to have and to hold.

Senior day

Today was Senior Day in town.
Everywhere I went was awash
in blue rinse and that thin brown whiz
they offer up as free coffee.

At the Goodwill, the checkout girl
said without looking up, “Do you get a
discount?” Then flicked her weary lashes
towards me before saying, “I guess not.”

At the grocery, an elderly acquaintance
bellowed across three aisles that I was
looking far too thin. And the line was clogged
with hearing aids unable to read the self-serve screens.

Out in the parking lot, my way was blocked
by a perfectly-preserved 1980s Buick
straddling two spaces while its near-sighted
owner struggled with the gear shift.

Strangely reassuring, then, to arrive in the plumbing
aisle of the hardware store, and have a grey-haired
woman stop pushing a giant ladder just long enough
to yell, “There’s some young man here who needs help!”

Do not use this product

Do not use this product
if you have heart disease,
liver problems, high blood pressure,
persistent cough or chronic
breathing problems.

Also not a good idea if you
are pregnant or breast-feeding,
taking drugs for depression,
psychiatric or emotional conditions,
if you have Parkinson’s disease,
or if you just want your kids to go to sleep.

If you do decide to take this
product, do not drink alcohol,
drive, or operate heavy machinery.
Try to avoid people with whom
you may be tempted to get into a
fight, as you will be darn irritable.

Keep out of the reach of children,
both you and these pills. Do not
take more than directed. If you do,
contact the Poison Control Center
right away, at the number unfortunately
obscured by the price tag on the right.

Then again, if you have managed
to read this far, you’re probably
going to pull through.