9December

The rain tattoos the parking lot
outside of the burger joint
and you wonder if you are
in or out of the aquarium.

This storm is not delivering
on the forecast’s promise.
Precipitation is steady, but feeble.
You were hoping for something
Biblical, or at least daunting.

You are instead gifted
with spit as mediocre as
the food in front of you.
Yet you eat, and watch, and listen
because that is what you have.

This is your realm
of mud and possibility.

***

31August

The man at the fish joint
sits in the same spot each visit.
Working a crossword puzzle,
his ‘Vietnam Veteran’ cap pushed back
on his head to let the thoughts in.
He takes this battle with words
seriously, eats and drinks
using peripheral vision.

There is more than diversion
in that maze of words,
definitions, and nuance.
It is a stanch against time,
loneliness, and the passing
of each barren day.

Eighteen across.
Five-letter word for cat.
He smiles, adjusts his cap.

*** 

10May

I’m not going to write a eulogy today,
or an elegy or any Goddamned
hymn to past, fallen lovers.

We failed one another, repeatedly,
never fulfilling the promise
of our spring romances.

Every bloom we let wither and die.
Now they are down there,
in a lengthening row, and

I will soon lie down
to join them.

Image by Georgiana Romanovna via Pixabay