Category: Book o’ Verse

  • Back to back

    My 3-year-old and me
    back to back at a
    Route 5
    pee shack
    and there's this mighty roar
    pours out his two-foot frame.
    The rush of my doom.
    As I'm flushed
    out the room.
  • Cyril, who recently retired from service

    Cyril, who recently retired from service
    in the British government.
    Only fifty some-odd years old
    and now traveling the world
    in the wake of a messy divorce.
    And what did you learn, Cyril,
    in your fifty some-odd years?
    “It isn’t worth it.”
    Great.
    But he seemed happy enough.

  • Family smiles

    Family smiles down
    long tables at
    loud restaurants
    there’s an extra calmness
    there sometimes
    and even family
    blank stares and
    family glares still
    jaws with an
    inch or so between them and
    all the muscles
    hanging comfortably
    loose.

  • Strom

    Senator Strom Thurmond belongs to my gym.
    I see him there three, four times a week.
    On the treadmill.
    Sculpting his biceps.
    His rock hard abs.
    He doesn’t listen to music while he works out.
    He just stares straight ahead
    with his iron skull and his
    wide, bony eye sockets.
    I try to tell him it’s overkill.
    “Senator, really.
    At your advanced age
    one time a week
    would be more than enough.”
    He snarls at me. “Son,” he says.
    “You don’t know beans.”

  • Kennedy

    He tries so hard
    to look bright around the eyes
    bright Kennedy eyes
    kind crinkles soft
    wisdom star fire big pupils with
    flecks of genius
    knowing, nodding
    but it always
    comes out
    crazy.

  • Ow

    Ow.
    Ow dammit ow.
    Dammit.
    Ow.
    Don’t walk
    and write.

  • Woosh

    That’s the goal. To open it
    one more crack.
    Bathe in the woosh.
    Fire it back.
    Not to be Superman.
    But to stick our heads
    into the place
    where the idea of Superman came from
    and then wriggle out
    trout
    in teeth.

  • Hate

    I wear your hatred
    like a badge
    like one of those
    toy sheriff badges
    made out of spray-painted
    fake-metal
    plastic.
    Look at me: I’m a cowboy!

  • Clean

    Little bird people
    with their hollow bones
    heads uplifted
    trying out afterhours fancy soap.
    Bath salts.
    Sugar scrubs.
    Sometimes
    it’s not all about you
    applying topical sweetness.
    Sometimes
    it’s all about
    traffic hums
    warm door
    happy birds.

  • Eyes

    His eyes stopped on her
    like a butterfly
    landing on your arm.