Leaking

I left you at the front door
Hunching through the fray
Your forward motion blurring and then smoothing
The glistening at the corners of your eyes.

Driving away I thought again
Of the basement plumbing I had so inexpertly performed this weekend
The sharp-pointed tapping valve sitting not quite true upon its copper pipe
And the slow slow drip that echoed through the night

It is perhaps the genius of our lives
That we live by pressing forward through the crowd
Yet mark our progress most profoundly not in good intentions
But in the injuries of imperfection and in tears not quite contained.

Hanging it up

After twenty years
Of flying flashing
Lifting leaping
Throwing thwarting
And always coming out
Just on top
He carefully folded
His scarlet cape
Laid it together with his
Tights and mask
And gave them
In a faded cardboard box
To the costume department
Of a local theater
Then settled to
A brave new life
Selling baseball cards
In an unassuming store
Just opposite the congregational church
On main street.
It had finally occurred to him
That every time he saved the world
It only encouraged them.

A grain of truth

There is nothing more dangerous
Than a grain of truth

I have an acquaintance I dare not call a friend
Who having found a crack in my defenses
Will ease it wide by deft manipulation of a doubt
Then nails upon my inner doors a summons

I know this document by heart
It is a wanted poster detailing
Heinous crimes of personality
That in reality describe her more than me.

And yet with each assault however fanciful
I believe her long enough
To fall again into her arms.
And then I let her comfort me.

Later I feel dirty, enraged
I stand a long time in the shower
Making resolutions in the rising steam
I know I will not keep.

Pentecost

The Spirit rests
With pyrotechnic grace
On the chaos of betrayal
Seats suddenly empty
Dreams derailed
Even death itself
Fragments gathered
Like kindling
Raised in a giant
Holy bonfire
While we retire
Exhausted
And marvel
As something
Keen and sharp-taloned
Rises exultant
From the flames.

The final straw

To see you
Standing in the yard
Casually waving
A bottle of beer

To find you slipping
Shamefaced off the couch
When I emerge
On Sunday morning

To stand and wait
And wait some more
While you catch up
With all the neighborhood

To run the gauntlet every week
Of neighbors
Tired of all
Your endearing little ways

All these I can and do endure
And love you still

But when you
Throw up on my carpet
And then return to lick it up again
This is too much to bear
Get out of my house
Bad bad bad

Neighbors

At half-past three
I heard you gasp
The dull concussion
Of fist on flesh
The icy scream
Of rage-thrown glass
His voice
Rough and spirited
Dancing punch-drunk
Around your frantic taunts
You cried again
Appalled, I closed the window
Against the storm
Then lay awake, uneasy
At the siren in the distance
And your sudden silence

Oh no, not again

Lord Jesus Christ
Of Belchertown, Mass
Almost died today
On the godless streets of
Northampton
He was run down
On of all things
A crosswalk
By a 20-year-old girl
Whose initials were
B.C.
She was probably an
Atheist.

(True story)



'Lord Jesus Christ' Run Down In Crosswalk
by The Associated Press

May 7, 2010 The victim might have forgiven the woman who ran him down in a Massachusetts crosswalk, but police haven't.
Police say a Pittsfield woman has been cited for running down a man named Lord Jesus Christ as he crossed a street in Northampton on Tuesday.
The 50-year-old man is from Belchertown. Officers checked his ID and discovered that, indeed, his legal name is Lord Jesus Christ. He was taken to the hospital for treatment of minor facial injuries.
Police say 20-year-old Brittany Cantarella was cited for failing to yield to a pedestrian in a crosswalk.

Boys

What is the point
In having children
If at some point
You can’t enjoy
Breaking the rules
Together?

A controlled explosion
Of excess
And dissolute behavior
Can be just the thing
To bond a father
With his boys.

Letting go

Her face like prairie earth
Deep scored and then abandoned
She wavered at the lip of undulating rug

I have a present yet to wrap she sighed
Green paper spread in invitation
Like the cloth at her once mighty table.

Moved and yet unmoved I smiled and kissed her brow
Knowing I must not carry
One more piece of that inheritance

Some few treasures of our imperfection
May be welcome to those who follow after
But mostly we must grieve and then let go.

Specific gravity

Upon these wooden shelves
Above my head
Stood more books than I could
Throw my arms around
Every volume with a story
Of my life
What I was doing when I bought it
Where I lived
What I hoped
What I still promised
For someday

Each cloth-bound personality
Invited or accused me
Daily from its dusty perch
So that I dared not raise my eyes
For fear of censure
From my past.

I had not realized
The gravity of history
Until I seized upon those solemn watchers
And like some literary hitman
Bound and gagged them
Laughing hysterically
As I pushed them from the car
In the alley behind
The Salvation Army

There is space now in this room
And the heady smell of Pledge
I can breathe and dream
Again.