From the collection published in 2021, And Don’t Come Back.

Interlaced

Through the processes of time
each day keeping to its turn
this visit ends
like all the others in all the years before
and we now arrive at my suitcase
as it silently sets about the beginnings
of being in transit
You fold my clothes with anxious slow precision
I with the satisfaction of finishing a good meal
not hungry for the next one yet.
The rooms that will be counted empty.
Oh, you said I will miss you so much
a long face and a resigned voice. But I knew
pushing aside the piles of clothing
untidy division of folded and waiting to be folded
that when my train leaves the station
the mix of
Hurry up and be gone Please stay another day
the tightness around your ribs
it will relax and let you fall into the
welcome back to us your annotated grocery lists
your careful lawnmowing and your neat quiet house
no one breathing its air but you
Along about two o’clock
you’ll wonder where the train might be on its journey.

One visit
once each year
is enough.
I feel it in my bones I will see you again next year.

2/28/20

From Unpredictable Hue, published in 2019.

Classification and Boundary

Well, old friend
whose name I don’t know but we are
friends:
subcategory:
proximity friends
line item:
location specific.
I see you in the library once a week.

I say hello to you
because we are friends but only
friends: subcategory proximity friends
and what that means is
keep the gate closed and look over it
only.
A nod once in a while is enough.

9/6/18
9/12/18

From the collection published in 2019, Unpredictable Hue.

Cold Tea

The teasing the practical jokes the laughing sarcasm
the things that hurt. You might sweeten them
you might dilute them you might dissolve them
with some simple sort of understanding or
you might never have a thought of including
the acid in the first place but
in our refrigerator
the pitcher of cold tea we make
is always thick and dark and bitter.

9/13/18
9/20/18

From Unpredictable Hue, a collection published in 2019.

Perspective on Repair and Discard

Once you realize
it cannot be repaired
stop trying. Pull the plug
on the balky refrigerator.
End the relationship and
let a new one have the job.
Say good-bye.
It’s just a refrigerator
not the last family member
you still speak to.

9/6/18

From Unpredictable Hue, published in 2019.

Small Ugly Talk

There was a noise. There was a vibration. There was
shapeless sound. There were the words
as soon as said
it was all forgotten.
There were the small bites of two-faced too-sweet
offered to the smiles that poisoned the
It’s nice of you to say so.
There were too many voices that looped and knitted
and wrapped this room
and all of them a noise that did not could not disguise
the heartlessness
of the full-time say-anything flirts lounging in the
armchairs. Here it felt cold.
It rang false. It gathered in the corners.
It walked on thin legs. It sneered.

8/30/18
9/5/18

A Salesman’s Got to Sell
At a neighborhood party and
crowds of people and
I sit in a lawn chair
and think about going home when
this man hangs over the arm of my chair
just like that he says
Let me ask you
leans in
how’s it going and
where you from
and in what city? No kidding and
well, I’ve been to the other city
guess the weather was the same
and a friend down there
introduced me to corn dogs
if you can believe that
let me tell you.
I’m in the apparel business
travel
four states
five times a week
all over. Let me tell you

He tells me and he tells me and
I stop listening to the words but the rhythm sure is catchy
and I notice that
like a good trumpet player
you can’t even tell where he takes the breaths.
Yes, a marvel this performance
in factory offices and showrooms across four states

this kind of glib is like a whole set of backflips across the turf
a glissando your eye can’t help but follow but then
there is enough
You tire out
I close my eyes
doesn’t change a thing
A salesman’s got to sell
A mark’s got to give in
The sun rises and the sun sets
A salesman’s got to sell.

5/31/18
6/6/18