the bachelor

and
one woman walked in
her breasts swinging free under her dress
cleavage in full view
commando style
the dog checked her out
multiple times
and
there's another woman next door
who shows up for coffee when
her boyfriend is away
she lingers at the door
the bachelor life
middle aged but fit,
shaved bald
a nice smile and a fat checking
account
he's in demand

Butterflies

hordes of them

a cloud

landing and flittering off

I can hear the nectar being slurped

into hungry mouths

the sun is glinting off their wings

a wind is rising 

a turbulent storm

sweeping across Africa

from the flurry of

butterfly wings

Getting to bed earlier

all of a sudden it's 10:30 p.m.
my love is in bed, he has stolen my covers,
my poem is not written,
I've only practiced flute for 5 minutes
my teeth are not brushed.
I'm getting texts from him, reminding
me that it's time for bed,
then that he's turning out the lights
and I'll have to creep into the bedroom
disturbing his gentle snoring,
or not, as he's awake in bed,
in the dark,
waiting for me.

I was tempted but resisted

I was tempted, really,

for a few moments, I put it in my cart

even thinking how easy it would be to pull a 

pre-moistened towelette from the shiny plastic 

dispenser and press the four corners into 

the neatly cut slits.

I would remove it from its plastic packaging,

the kind that must be cut with a sharp pair of scissors,

the material that goes in a landfill and never goes

away, it will be there for future generations 

to ponder at our wastefulness.

I decided against it.

I put it back on the shelf.

I went home and pulled out my decades old

mop handle, the original covers long gone.

I covered the base with an old kitchen towel,

secured it with clothespins, sprayed 

some cleaner made with baking soda

on the floor and mopped.

The floor was beautifully clean.

unable to share

Unable to share
the photo of the old man out for his morning stroll,
supporting himself on his walker, his small white poodle
accompanying him, the sun is low in the sky,
I would have shown you but the Cloud says it's unable
to share right now and to come back later,
since when does the Cloud sleep,
I'd like to know.

the perfect latte

Artistry can be found everywhere, created anywhere

by anyone at anytime

in any weather

during travels for any reason,

a  perfect latte is the perfect reason to stop,

to reflect,

to donate the same amount of money

to anyone anywhere anytime

who is in need.

Writing it up

what  does Henry's Law have to do with anything

what does a sub-monolayer look like

and what does the Martian wind look like near the surface

when it's hot and when it's cold

these are the questions worth asking when it's 10 p.m.

Colorado time, and there's an empty wine glass

and an empty martini glass on the table in front of me

I'll say what I have to say.

and when my feet slip into my wool slippers and 

my pajamas are soft against my skin,

the blankets are warm and my eyes are closed

my dreams will come to me 

I will see the wind dervishes on Mars

spinning, spinning,spinning

Packing for Mars 2020 Peer Review

shall I wear the slightly stretchy pants
the first day or the second, with the colorful
top, the black jacket, how about my favorite
socks with the Swiss emblem,
I haven't reviewed the technical materials yet,
but will jeans be ok on the second day,
it seems they dress business casual all the
time even though it's California,
maybe too many old white men?
and it's late again, and my friend, Steve,
would be packed in five minutes but
perhaps he did not just finish making home made
granola and homemade yogurt for his
sweetheart.
The technical details will wait until tomorrow
night after a cocktail with an old friend,
that should release the critical mind to do
her work while she sleeps.

Earning a belt

I chased him, the old mestre around

the roda, knowing he could bring me down

and we laughed at this knowledge in this game,

I kicked and he easily stepped away, I ducked

under his kicks that moved so slowly, 

arcing gracefully over my head.

he pointed behind me and I turned my head,

for a moment only to see him laughing at me.

he had taught me never to do that, to always

keep your eyes on your opponent.

after the fun, he wrapped my waist with my 

first belt, lovingly wrapped by my mestre,

never say never, never say too old.

the last rays of summer

Looking for that special bowl

I'm looking for that special bowl that she 

carefully spun on a potter's wheel, the one she 

described as "Dinner set with green chun lip",

I looked for a set of four

Isn't that what a dinner set is, or it is six,

It was one, a dinner for one seems so lonely,

nestled amongst handle-less mugs, extravagantly

elegant pitchers and pudgy objects that only

a mother would love.

I loved all those hand formed pieces she brought

me from kindergarten, and the handprint still pressed

into the cement on 13th Street marked "Karen".

these are the objects that endure alongside

my steadfast love for the girl that made

the pudgy pots and smeared posters,

I still have them all.  

Old friends, XLV

XLV years later, we meet again,

it's Fate.  

You with grey in your beard,

Me with slight jowls, but

the same smiles, the same affection.

The Oregon beach where we met still has

a thundering surf 

the sunsets are as spectacular and young people

wander the beach, smiling across shimmering sand,

maybe they will become friends like we did.

Maybe they will meet again 45 years later

at a brewpub somewhere.

Trading tomatoes for community engagement

when all else fails, bribe them

with heirloom tomatoes, warmed by the sun,

ripened to perfection.

my kind of crossword puzzle

I hate the usual crossword puzzles

with room for 10 letter words and obscure clues

and nods to popular culture.

I'm a cultural wasteland.

But this puzzle, the one with four to five letter words,

this one with 23 boxes to fill it,

this is my dream crossword,

It makes me so happy when I am done,

the big accomplishment for the day,

mastery feels so good.

capoeira angola

the fellow in the yellow T-shirt cleans my house.

I can't believe I have had a capoeira angola mestre cleaning my house.

I found out the my capoeira canavial mestre cleans houses, too.

mestres need to be paid more for making the world 

a better place.

all this swirls in my mind as my muscles groan

and my bones creak,

the fellow with the white dew rag has Tourette Syndrome

So brave to be here, knowing that at any moment

he will make weird sounds at odd moments.

he's apologetic but calm.

we are moving in a circle,

on our hands and knees

as if in prayer.

god knows the world needs it.

queuing

we are all lined up 

slowly shuffling along, most of us with

cell phone in hand, some hold a book,

some look annoyed, others resigned.

I see a woman wearing high heels,

a man with bad teeth and a couple

in love.

they could stand forever in line

time has stopped for them

how lovely.

the trouble with money

she likes to buy makeup and fancy clothes
he can't  get by without a $6000 bike
he makes less
she makes more
or he makes more and she makes less
but they share a bed and a life and children
and a house and need two cars
and he likes to dine out and she doesn't want to spend
the money and why are there so many unopened Amazon
packages in the hallway
where does the money go
and no, there is no logic to why having
a budget causes tears and anger
turning away.
ah, the trouble with money.

Doctor Decade

Doctor Decade,

it's been at least a couple since we talked

now look at us still singing, riding a bike,

still strumming a guitar,  tooting a flute,

writing songs,penning poems

you have lost some hair and gained some weight

I have my own secret losses

It's a sunny day in Lansing,

we're still here

still singing and strumming,

still smiling.