Category: national-poetry-month

I’m
relieved
that
National Bike Month
is
May
rather
than
January.

My life
grows complex
in small,
simple increments.

Never eat at a restaurant that doesn’t have soap in the restroom.

Never drink in a bar that doesn’t have a back door.

Never shop in a grocery store that doesn’t sell produce.

Never sing a song that doesn’t have lyrics.

Never bet against the house.

Never take sides against the family.

The little e-mail meant for human resources was accidentally copied to the entire company.

“This was sent to me in error,” the first respondent said, choosing reply all. “I don’t work in HR.”

“Best of luck with your personal problem,” said the next, choosing reply all, “but this should go to personnel.”

“Why did this e-mail come to me?” asked the third, choosing reply all. “I work in accounting.”

And so it went, on and on, like an e-mail tar pit. The collective tone moved from bewilderment to anger, culminating in an extended chorus of

“Stop replying all!”
“Stop replying all!”
“Stop replying all!”

Neural enhancement drugs,
like steroids and plastic surgery,
threaten what we know as normal.

Predominantly white males,
Northeastern Universities,
fraternity members
experimenting

No other mountain, I believe,
Has the same astonishing power
To disappear and reappear at will.

When my wife died, a voice in my head comforted me, saying, “She won’t have to endure what is to come.”

I wonder now if that was a message, or my own crazy response to grief.

My poem takes time,
It grows from a moment,
an image,
a phrase.

It drafts and
redrafts on the page.

It grows and is pruned back.

It opens me up and
I so often wish
to remain
closed.

For the man on the corner

“Hey you know
you guys are
just two paychecks,
maybe three,
away from being
homeless
just like me.”

The status update
pings a small network of friends
who are all offline.