This Old House

Thursday Morning, Busting Up A Metal Mesh Reinforced Tile Floor

Tight lipped five pound sledge

Gavels order to mayhem

Lungs gulp delta silt

revised post

As If We Needed Another

the last thing we need, another autumn to

Pull the plug on summer

Set the stage for winter

Strand seven apples

in a green glass

Bowl on the kitchen table

Goad us

out the back door to

Look up in thrall to sky blue yarn

unspooling to fray at dusk

Flinch at a flurry

of red and yellow hands

that clamor to

Push us to our knees

Hold us down

Weight our lids

          with copper while we

Count backward

lulled by wood smoke

          fleeting color we need like

we need another

goddamn hole in the head like

we need someone to

Come along kicking

through the leaves in search of words with which to

         

Write another poem.

With a nod to the Band

If I Thought It Would Do Any Good

I’d Stand On the Rock Where Moses Stood

struggling for purchase, sandals biting

my bunions, juggling tablets and staff

gesticulating like a Mumbai traffic cop

yammering on and on to beat the band

words spirited off on a stiff breeze

folks on the margins drifting away

by twos and threes, giving wide berth

to the merchandise table, Porta Potties

plastered with wind-driven programs

raiment riding up my chilly backside. 

Rather, you can find me at the beach

my old sea parting ways behind me

apples and some pencils in a canvas

ruck, thumb out for a passing whale.