The Big Boss

he calls me to his office

where he leans back in his chair

to allow his belly room to breathe,

the better to instruct me in the finer

points of his trade while I notice

a friendly greeting left on his whiteboard

dated 1997and wonder if he

hasn’t made any friends

since then.

It's a Bad Month to be a Dictator

I.  Tunisia:  Ben Ali

Flames of revolution!

sparked by a funeral pyre,

a man tumbling from an electric wire,

tear gas in the streets, beatings,

strikes and solidarity, soldiers

sweeping their scopes around

like flags in a changing wind

to settle this story.

II.  Egypt: Mubarak

ungrateful peasants!

who dare to stand peacefully

 in Tahrir Square, returning each morning

to sweep away the litter, the tears,

the blood, returning with hopes and dreams

that would not be crushed.

III:  Libya:  Qaddafi

Machine Guns and AK-47s!

may scatter them like so many

birds falling to the ground

like stones,  then flocks taking to

the air again to beat their wings

against forty-two years of tyranny.

They will not fail.  Freedom.

Picture:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Caravane_de_la_lib%C3%A9ration_4.jpg

Prompt from SH

Staplers

I.  

a thin crooked staple

scars the top right corner

as a frown scars a beautiful face.

II. 

a straight staple

with braces, those two

points that punctuate from

the back like the lover

who offers her mouth

full of metal.

III.

With an emphatic electrical

thump, twenty-four pages stapled

together by perfection:

a straight staple in front,

two perfect metal clasps in

back, tiny teeth hidden in

the depths of knowledge. 

The Impossible Pose

the students lined up against the wall

willing, if unable

to follow the impossible

instructions, even less the demonstration of

knee soft, aligned with the toe, outer edge of

the foot parallel to the mat, back leg up  strong

reach for the sky, pelvis stacked over front foot

collar bone relaxed and open, breathe easy

without collapsing, we tried

to accomplish the impossible pose

and will try again next week.

A Meeting in Boulder

they don’t drink wine

preferring to sip green tea demurely

from their stainless steel thermoses

purchased at Whole Foods,

guaranteed sweat-shop free.

they don’t eat cookies

because they have white sugar

that widens the waistline but

they might nibble a Fair Trade

chocolate bar.

enjoyment is measured by

how healthful it is and by how

many calories, by how much it

might affect athletic performance.

Pass the red wine with sulfites

and the cookies that are loaded

with butter and sugar.

I’ll take them all.

In sorrow for Christchurch

buildings fall to their knees
praying for forgiveness, for
sins they never committed.

Photo from:
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2011/02/22/world/0223-ZEALAND-7.html

The “K” of the JKR Theory speaks to us

"K" describes how
two spheres reach across an infinitesimal
space to touch each other, sacrificing their perfect
roundness for a euphoria of connection, each
giving in proportion to her Modulus, selflessly
stretching, reaching for perfection in unity.
we, who listen raptly from our metal
folding chairs in the auditorium cheer
on the pair, wishing for them what we wish
for ourselves.

annoying boys

 they complain about mismatched

plastic covers, they don’t see

dirty dishes and “forget” to put

away the leftovers;  they dance around

the kitchen in their boxer shorts brushing

their teeth after having squeezed the last bit

of toothpaste from the middle of the tube,

the top spinning on the floor covered

with dog hair, what else;

once in bed, they pull your finger, fart under

the covers, roll over, pulling all the covers

away from you and drift off into that

deep sleep of contentment.  

what a wonderful life.

A belated Valentines Day Poem

 sigh....internet was down for two days at the hotel in Savannah and I could not post!  Terrible!!!


so many wives
demand a special dinner, flowers and chocolates
from the men who sat all day
in hotel chairs listening to lectures
about fracture mechanics, interfacial energies and
pressure sensitive adhesives
while they shopped on Broughton Street,
but I did not
shop today, I sat in an ugly hotel
chair and listened to talks about
surface characterization, rupture mechanics
and chemical mechanical polishing.
I do not want a special dinner, flowers
and a box of chocolate.
I’d be happy for a hug and bar
of Chocolove, make that
Sea Salt Almonds in Dark Chocolate. 

De-magnetized randomly

my room key card keep dying
at the hotel door, in the elevator
the buttons holding their breath as
I keep inserting my room card
with no result looking so silly standing
in an elevator that does move but
in random directions as unseen
passengers call it
i ride up and down helplessly
until the elevator stops randomly
at my floor and i get off
only to realize my key does
not open my door and i
once again randomly ride
up and down and up and down
until i arrive at the lobby
again
asking for a new key only
this time, with purpose, riding
up the elevator to floor 5
only to topple exhausted
into my bed.

A Frenchman at breakfast in America

barely glancing

but with disdain

at an American breakfast

in a hotel

(even though a half way decent one)

of rubbery eggs and greasy bacon

drip coffee and white rolls

he inquires

is this what you usually eat in

America?

On wearing a ring on your left hand when you are not married in Savannah, Georgia

I twist my gold ring studded with cubic zirconia
while listening to two men discuss mutual funds
and pensions as soon as their wives leave
for the powder room
this ring, purchased on budget in a foreign city
blanketed in smoke where couples stroll arm in
arm
I pretend I had someone, too,
a foreign correspondent currently stationed in Egypt
or somewhere else romantic
I wear it to feel respectable
treasured, unavailable
The foursome have moved onto breakfast plans
and AARP discounts
a baby at the next table cries in protest
my wine glass is half empty
a cotton  train rumbles by
black under white, tourists
stroll candy shops
Sweet Savannah in spring.

Units of Measure

Inside the barn (b),

the Lilliputian lucky hands must fit

inside to feed the horses squished

together in a femto-meter-squared

abode, oh so tight inside they

explode like fission by-products

from a uranium bomb only to end

up in the outhouse (o), tighter yet!

black on white

after all these years she loves me

for black words on a white sheet

of surrender like flags planted on

the fields of war long after the

troops have gone home.

The not-so-obvious meaning of hyphenation

another npr commentator who hyphenates,

her oh so liberal-intellectual thinking

informing us about not-so-obvious

points of view based on quasi-real science

mostly based in fact or at least close enough

to pass stratospherically high over the

heads of the illiterati of the non-hyphenated

Fox commentators who talk white

and do black, and do not hyphenate

their last names.

White on White

 

it was the end of the beautiful white flowers

just a day ago so carefully trimmed and immersed in clear

water for her, floral preservative added to assure

the longest blooms in the hope

that she wouldn’t leave, that it wasn’t

true, a bad dream in a beautiful house, if the flowers

were in bloom she would not leave would she

put the white blooms in their white grave

on the way to her new life.

Take a lesson from a flamingo

flamingos

look around,

back to front, left to right

while we groan collectively at our desks

with each ten degrees of movement

after staring straight ahead for hours

at our computer screens, steadfastly

growing our dowagers’ humps.

Emily Dickinson's Emdash

the scholars battle, pitting one doctoral thesis against the other –

the emdash against the endash, or was it a mere flick of the wrist –

a grammatical reprobate or an eccentric transcendentalist writing

especially capriciously or just jotting down a cake recipe as

it were a possibility inside a closed up house with the curtains down

while she sashays across the page, dancing up and down in

giddy punctuation then quietly slowing, her tea having

sloshed completely from her cup spilling overly onto her

notebook, she sits solemnly at her desk wondering what

they will think of her marks and will they see the words

in between.

Homemade Margaritas

he’s tipsy alright

not even finished his home-made

margarita blabbering something about

ever-clear versus the real stuff

tequila, expensive tequila that the girls

drink on Tuesday nights so they’re used to

it alright, not a lightweight like he is tonight

lying on the bed babbling about something I’m

not listening to it makes no sense and I have things

to do alright I’m tired too, off to bed for the two of

us oh he’s already sound asleep mouth open snoring

just like the dogs lying in the doorway.

Dancing in Doggie Pawz

she wears the purple, he wears the blue

they dance across the oak floors

like ballerinas in pointes, delicate

high steps followed by delirious dashing

across carpets no longer tethered to

the ground, folding upon themselves against

sofas and chairs, stoves and tables

that i disentangle one by one from

the leashes, picking up one

blue bootie to replace onto a brown paw

before shooing them out the door into

the bitter cold, returning to my coffee

and newspaper to enjoy the quiet morning.