Friday, March 29, 2013

Call Housekeeping

Custodians Creed

Lord Spare Us!
arrives day in, day out
a steady dribble swollen to raging torrent
to drips and drabs
round and round
so on and so on and so on and so on
thronging the rope line
craning to glimpse
the turnstiles and restrooms
swanning about the gift shop
palming gold plated tchotchkes
humming along
to hushed harp piped in
to lubricate sales
the sour bite
of a stolen glance
at a wristwatch
pursed lips
echo of tapping feet in the terminal
little details I notice in passing
Me, content in coveralls
guiding this utility cart
weaving in and out
of milling petitions  
anxious to make their connections
while I waltz a mop
through the concourse bathrooms
striving to make a difference
in My own small omnipotent way. 

Monday, March 25, 2013

Buy American

One Car Garage

Chuck Berry made Maybelline  
from the snarl of parts
he found hopelessly tangled
in a rough cut pine crate
on a high mossy shelf
above a calloused window
weeping jaundiced light
in trailing veins
across the fender skirts of a well-appointed
Cadillac shoehorned between
Mark Twain’s cobbled vernacular and Edward Hopper’s
blackened crucible
curved lip spackled
with the flat light of day and late night shadow.
White wall tires
suggest life preservers to Hank Williams
drowning in the deep plush
of the back seat
while Louis Armstrong and Arthur Miller
uncoil jumpers
and argue whether it’s red to red
black to black
or the other way around.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Crossing the yard


Three times now I’ve seen them.
Crossing the yard
but three weeks ago
led, leashed by the dog
to the solemn Norway spruce
that celebrates mass
and blesses her gifts
the third such that morning.
Enamel blue sky
after a three day snow
precise transverse incision
above the southern horizon
inscribed by a thieving sun
that pockets the night
in minute slivers we’ll never miss. 
Motor drone, born full term
into silence, triplets
soothing themselves
a low hymn sung in one voice
gracing the frame
at three o’clock
tacking west to skirt the zoo
slender as books
of stillborn poems
wing spans a third again or better
the length of each slippery yellow lozenge
nosing ahead
through an alphabet
of airy proverbs
hacked to pieces in prop wash.
Details, details
the devil detained at the boarding gate
pilots banking for a final run
feathering sticks
dipping wings
in blessed watery sunlight
haloed crosses peeling off
one, two, three
the dog and me
crossing this temporal vail
one shy of a triumvirate. 

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Loose Change Magazine

The poem Orangutan, and images of original paintings by Dave Hardin, appear in the latest issue of Loose Change, A Literary Magazine. 

Friday, March 15, 2013

New poem

Rainy Spring Morning

Rainy spring morning is older now
slower, less inclined to bound
up the down staircase
or greet sudden dawn with a drop jaw slap
to the forehead, night
somehow no longer young, drinking
whole days in breathless gulps from a clanging pail
knobby throat exposed, bobbing
lewd and naked, heedless
of a sopping shirt, unaware
exactly when he took to sipping primly
from the lip of the minute cup
a careful hand cupped to a careless chin
catching the gesture
in the window
above the sink
beneath the sleeve
of light that smears charcoal features
and quotes from windows past
the glow that drew him on his way to school
tucked way back
in the shadow of huddled trees
new leaves sluicing rain in whispers
onto the backs of sidewalk worms. 
Rainy spring morning twists the band
on his cudgel finger
grateful mate to the one you wear
dialing in this hypnotic spell of molten gold
a boy for a moment 
lingering in front of a house
upturned palm catching creamy light
that runs through his fingers
and pools around his clumping buckle boots.