poisoned daggers cloaked in Rotary Club good works

poisoned daggers, aimed meticulously
at your heart from a safe distance of
Christian values and Rotary Club good works,
you know the ones, like your own father,
who delivered meals to the poor on Thanksgiving Day
and raped his daughter the night before,
the evil ones,
the ones who act pious and good,
while spitting poisoned daggers from side-mounted
holsters.
You may know them as fathers and brothers
as I do,
or Senators spouting morality after boffing young boys
in public restrooms.
They are usually male.
They dance in each other's shadows,
seeking protection from the law and the light of goodness.
I know them, so do you.

the taste of cigarette

long ago we laid in each other's arms

I remember he smoked and he would reach for 

a cigarette afterwards

I liked the sour taste of cigarette in his mouth

 it reminded me of another love who smoked,

a young man raising himself, working bowling alleys,

how he smoked while we drove around together

late at night.

I was raising myself.

my mother was so absent

he was there.

and so, somehow the taste of a cigarette in 

my lover's mouth meant safety

I never realized this until tonight, some 37

years later.

I don't need that anymore.

Two women and a dying man

two women and a dying man saved the day
by voting no.
the dying man staggered to the front of the chambers,
at the last moment, turning his thumb down.
it was the right thing to do, flying on government
dollars to make this vote, receiving the finest medical care
on the government dollar, in his dying days
he knew he couldn't die having voted yes
while having taken so much.
and what of the two women who had the balls
to stand up to all the white Republican men,
well, that's what strong women do.

Trash Talk and Devastation in Washington

Sure, they wear nice suits and crisp ties,
the older white men.
they talk trash, Trump and his goons,
fighting talk, firing talk, f*ing unacceptable talk.
Sanctions for Russia, skinny repeal, North Korea,
just talk big, very very big,
very very good.
Our President, never will I say President
and Trump in the same phrase.
Let them talk trash, I will bide my time
until 2018, only writing postcards for
now.

The Rain

A woman runs by with her dog,
laughing and looking up to the sky,
water running down her face
her T-shirt dark wet with rain.
we're drinking wine, toasting to the skies,
the tomato plants dancing to raindrops,
thunder and sirens, do they not always
go together,
the dog cowers inside while we
laugh and young people shout and
chase through the streets.
It's rain
rain after endless days of dry heat.
it's rain
that cleanses all.

it's so hot

water would boil on sidewalks
if there was moisture,
eggs would fry on roofs.
it's so hot that black dogs
pant while sleeping on the couch
with the fan spinning.
its so hot that we all drag
ourselves from work to home
to bed to work again
and we pray for the cool winds
of autumn.

saying good bye

saying good bye when things are broken,
but you still hope for a repair.
is it harder to say good bye to something broken
or intact, you'd think the latter
but humans are funny creatures
logic does not always apply.

Big guns

I'm ready now

Japanese beetles beware.

Your life is about to be over.

With a quick load of salt, you'll be sprayed

with a high speed stream of salt,

tell me how good that feels on your guts.

I watch you get blown off my flowers,

some of you may still be alive

but I'll get you the next time where you will

join your brethren in a carpet of dead carcasses.

Yes, I'm ready now.

Are you.

sweat

I sweat
in rivers, glistening rivers down
my neck, the back of my shirt is drenched
in sweat, even my legs are moist, my feet
stick to the floor.
we all sweat, I see sweat running
down their backs, their faces,
the room is humid and dank
even those who don't sweat,
like me,
are sweating as we move
in this dance of capoeira.

Street cleaning

the tow trucks were busy.

one after another, they lined up 

attaching chains to the cars still settled 

in for the night, their owners no doubt

in ignorant bliss, sipping their morning lattes.

this is the big city, boys,

where streets get cleaned and cars get towed,

where city coffers fill with fines and the slick fingers

of tow truck drivers thumb through bills,

easily gained first thing in the morning.

and me, I admire the streaks of clean streets

from my front porch.

A photo without words

smile at the world

smile at the world

when trees fall on houses

when executives blanche

when all this is fixed

with a few dollars and a few words.

smile with freckles and dimples

that come with old age, 

smile with a gold tooth.

smile because you have friends

and your kids are getting married,

that you're employed and have a soft bed.

smile for all those who don't, in the hope

that one day they will.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong person

no one bothered to tell the tree

wrong place, wrong time and wrong person.

doesn't this tree know not to fall on houses

or that

there is no good time to fall on a house

and even more

this house belongs to the nicest person

who doesn't deserve a tree on his house

there is no karma on this one

no need for him to get a slap on the hindquarters

he only deserves sunshine in his cereal

and a cool breeze on his brow,

tree, you showed up at the wrong place,

the wrong time and the wrong

person.

tis a pity.

Flying under the Moon

Flying under the Moon

all we hear is the rush of air

against the balloon, the whoosh of hot air rising

from the flames which seem so close as

to burn us.

all we see are trees swaying in the wind

below us

and the Moon falling away from us.

towards the horizon.

it's daytime but it could be night

except for the green of the leaves -

they would be silver in moonlight

and for the slight sheen of sweat

on your brow.

Falling off my bike

the car was suddenly right in front of me.
I was almost as suddenly on the ground
rubbing blood  from my arm onto the cement.
my bike and me in a single pile.
not the best way to start the day.

Napping at One

A nap at one p.m.
is a must for someone who is in need of sleep
- no matter why.
overworked or bored
underpaid or paid so much no work is needed
low on sugar or bloated from a heavy lunch
up too many times with a baby or a snoring husband
injured or well
napping at one p.m. is a delight
a must, on a weekend or weekday,
old or young, black or white, all genders,
sizes and colors, whether LGBT or Q or I
whatever letters,
napping at one p.m. is a delight.

Candy for boys

men will be boyz.

chocolate, caramel, coconut and coca cola

will buy their hearts and

their hard work,

a high five in the lab, an extra hour of work

no complaining.

I'll eat the cherries and fruit,

the salads and a bite of chocolate

and keep working.

we're tired, 

we're high on sugar

we will prevail.

It's all a game

Life is a game

with winners and losers,

the lucky and the unlucky.

but this, tonight is a game

just for fun

with friends and music and singing,

where a Brazilian man holds a Mexican woman

by the waist, gently, as they dance together

in this game.

it's a beautiful game

this game of life

today she is the birthday girl

she's a winner in the game

of life. 

Walking down the river

and a dirt path 

became a raging river, filled with hail

and rain, 

I put my sunhat over my rain hood

to keep from being beaten about the face

with icy pellets.

any attempts to keep dry feet were quickly aborted

and I hiked down the trail with haste,

yet cautiously,

hoping not

to slip on hidden rocks.

Woe to the hikers who had no rain gear,

they were huddled under spindly pine trees

I would have helped them if I could.

And to the mountain bikers who were

careening down hill a moment ahead of me,

they were caught in hail, wheels splashing

through the rivers that used to be trails.

How quickly things change 

from a sunny warm day to 

thunder, hail and torrential rain.

Let us be prepared.

New Potatoes

Clusters of asteroids orbiting the Garden,

Three large orbited again by three small ones.

White New Potatoes, their white flesh pocked

with the debris of soil impaction and penetration.

They look alike, these potatoes and asteroids.

They need names, these potatoes, Euliptis,

Radisco and Proslabus, they will soon disappear

into eager mouths, buttery hot

leaving asteroids to orbit in lonely trajectories

in distant space. 

Bicycling under the Moon

bicycling under the moon 

on empty roads, silence surrounding

dark forests that threaten to swallow you

whole should the wheels veer off

the narrow shoulder.

Ride in the middle of the moonlit 

night, ride along the center line,

pull wheelies and careen from one side

to the other.

only the moon is watching your rims

spinning along this silent empty

road, rims reflecting her moonlight,

#moonlight