next slide

Slide Show

The projector hunkered on haunches

straining its power cord leash

mesmerized by the cone of dust motes

bombarding the silver screen

so out of place on the implied

divide between living room and dinette

a practiced nonchalance

about its balletic tripod pose

jarring the four-square house

where we sat drugged by white noise

wash from the cooling fan

bulb hotter than a thousand suns

our faces aglow in ground 

zero glare shadow puppets

in the lull between slide trays

boxcars crammed with evidence

placing us at the scene 
framed for old crimes 

then slotted to wait
for the return carriage

our moment in the sun

light from long dead stars

passing through us slightly

out of focus in this darkened room.

over easy

Can’t Make Omelets Without Breaking Eggs

is a perfect metaphor for the moment

when the hard shell of winter, cracked clean

on the lip of April, splinters to molten delta . . .

but looking out the window this morning

I’m not so sure.  March, for one thing

reminds me of a knock-off, fourth rate

Impressionist print on the wall above a bed

in a Comfort Inn in Oscoda, bald patch

of canvas here, ragged diagonal magenta

stroke there, haystacks receding to skin rash

a flirt of a month until you notice the dark

circles under her eyes, a crimson nail tracing

infinity on your bow tie, the other hand

stroking February’s chilly thigh. Then again

poets can never go wrong with eggs

seamlessness married to mystery

symbolism hatched on a warm and rainy April

morning frantically working a hairline crack. 

a toast to technology

“Smart Toaster”

What on earth would we talk about

after years of silent acquiescence

to Avalon Motown Multigrain

hope for a two-state solution?

determinism versus agency?

this worrisome mole on my back?

breakfast is as uncomplicated

a meal as one could hope to find

coffee follows a good long leak  

follows slippers follows sunrise

fouled by the pregnant pause

non-sequitur and sotto voce muttering

prone to politely suffer pendants

I’ll nod and interject the occasional

you don’t say and don’t that beat all

you’ll drone on about kelvins of heat

gradient curves and a world set free

from gluten oblivious to the idle

daydreams of a man needing only

a pair of insulated wire cutters

eggs over easy and hold the toast.