Average Day
First the sun shined brightly
but then dark clouds moved in
and it rained heavily.
And, initially, there was no wind
but it finally started blowing gale-strength.
At work,
I finished that project
but, when I turned it in,
I was slammed with two more.
And Angela agreed to go out with me.
But she called it off before the time
we were to meet.
In other words,
the morning was full of promise
but the afternoon came off
as a disaster.
So, if you take the average,
it was an ordinary day
like every other.
It’s not the mean’s fault
that so much happened in it.
Dead Canaries
What bird song is left to us –
dead canaries are buried in a perching posture –
no longer singing,
merely quoting phantoms
in the falling snowflake rays
of the moon –
it’s quiet as sprinkled water,
and as dark as the pauses between piano notes –
no one listens to the stories
of old soldiers anymore -
memory resides
in each personal clump,
tarnished medals,
unfashionable uniform
with holes in the sleeves
where the bones poke through.
To The License, Poetic And Gun
The poem kept a gun in the house.
It fired at anyone
who trespassed on its property.
It was careful just to wing
the intruders,
didn't want them
bleeding all over
the finely wrought metaphors,
didn't want language cops
asking questions,
dusting for fingerprints,
looking for motive.
The poem wasn't necessarily violent
but it had its secrets
and they were to be protected at all costs.
What poem wants readers
running all over it,
messing up its rooms,
violating its body.
The poem understood
the best offence is self-defense.
It was an ode
to a loved one,
gentle, romantic,
straight from the heart,
a gun packed at the hip.
Geese Attack
Another argument with my beloved -
I struggled between raising my voice
and figuring exactly what the fight was over.
I strode off into the park
but came too close to a nest apparently
because a flock of Canada geese
suddenly flew out from the bushes.
in a semi-take-off,
necks waving like axes,
hissing louder than adders.
Sure I could grab every one
of those lumbering waterfowl
by the neck
and twist it like I'm tying
rope into a knot.
But I'm an animal lover
so 1 tried to bluff it out instead.
My expression went for.
"Look at me,
I think there's nothing sweeter on this planet
than fluffy little goslings."
The lead assailant stopped
and the others clumped up behind him.
But still their round black eyes
fired warning shots.
I've seen that expression on some women I've known.
"What do you mean, ‘sweeter’?"
I took two large steps away from the geese.
trying not to show any fear,
merely my mien of last resort - indifference.
They understood that apparently,
turned on their webbed feet.
and waddled back to their babies.
No question, indifference is a mighty weapon.
Too bad it only works with geese.
Pillow Talk
Talk of love, last thing at night,
fought hard against gravel-raking yawns.
You were saying that
if you were any drowsier
you'd be talking in your sleep
while my consciousness,
starved of all energy,
could barely make excuses
for why I wasn't fiercely hugging you to me
like a bear protecting its young.
My eyes hung low,
your body contained too many errors.
the bed was soft
and the hour reduced my words
to those of an automaton,
yours to a flat-lining murmur.
But our emotion muddled though,
even daring to venture that
life together will always be like this
until you rolled over.
gazed toward your subconscious.
emitted a brief snore,
like a vehicle starting up.
headed for the highway of dreams,
in its rear view mirror,
pillow talk fading.
