Tuesday, April 30, 2019

National Poetry Writing Month Thirty

Anticipatory Grief

His departure hallowed her
two years before it happened
making his favorite fried food
     the potatoes giving off earth
     the oil sealing in salt
she panic to realize it would end
if he wasn't her daily care
where would that leave her?
In order to stave off the horror
she got that Masters degree
volunteered her interests
and hoped next time he would visit
more than twice a semester.

Monday, April 29, 2019

National Poetry Writing Month Twenty-Nine


You Didn't Build That

More faded fire engine than Bozo nose
the red, long-sleeved polo my sister outgrew
plain unadorned logoless the way I like
wearing it over gray, long-sleeved bamboo
t-shirt souvenir from parents' Hawaiian trip
light touch with a lived-in feel that warms
worn under the brownish-gray zip-front sweater
my husband gets credit for that thrift store find
the weave of the sleeves tighter than the body's
with the coffee brown name-branded pants
bought with a gift card from mom-in-law
saved by the dry-cleaner/seamstress
her English was so-so; her work is invisible

Sunday, April 28, 2019

National Poetry Writing Month Twenty-Eight

Demographic Appeal

He is charmed by my attractiveness
to a narrow population
this woman for example
telling me about the bringer of cookies
each week bearing a brightly iced platter
today in the shape of eighth notes
in honor of Jazz Sunday
a print visible in a yellow one
left by a little thumb
that had trouble deciding
between the enticing shades
I lean closer to better hear the quaver
"I must learn her name," she confesses
"She always arrives late."

Saturday, April 27, 2019

National Poetry Writing Month Twenty-Seven

Inspired by Mary Oliver, with apology

Pest Geese

You need to stop hissing at me.
You need to walk your wide load out of my way.
You have dropped your soft, green mush all over the path
and that is not okay.
Tell me what you're thinking in that dinosaur relic of a brain
and I will tell you what my monkey mind sees.
Meanwhile a threatening beak at the end of a snaking neck
stretches aggressively at me.
Meanwhile Spring sap seeps through feathers
crazing your instinct to strike.
Meanwhile I was singing "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone"
in an attempt to distract you.
Whoever walks near you next
I offer this advice
I raised my arms, made myself big
over and over established my right
to be upright and bipedal on this sidewalk.