The Transformation

he whittles away at her
with small humiliations,
a certain tone of voice
.
a certain look of disdain
passes across his face
so quickly, like a single
frame of a movie we call life.
.
she has shrunk over time
from large as life to as
small as a church mouse
scurrying quickly across
an unswept floor.

Kepler Launch

our dreams launched
at t = 0, along with two
tons of hardware and optics,
our own Kepler space telescope,
mounted on a Delta II rocket.
dreams sometimes obscured
by the day to day mundane,
our eyes shine bright in
the reflection of fireballs
at launch, dimming as she
continues upward towards
the heavenly stars.

a glitter in the
far skies, she finally disappears
into the darkness of night.

A special moment for me as this is the first telescope I felt I had made a significant contribution to its safe design and manufacture. I can’t wait to see the images in about a month or so when we open the lid which is protecting the optics. Photograph courtesy of http://blogs.orlandosentinel.com/news_space_thewritestuff/2009/03/kepler-launch-cool-photo-.html

The Man in the Park

in the late afternoon
he sat on the stone bench
in the pocket park,
his back to the wind,
his face warmed by the sun,
his large black
duffel bag at his feet.
in the early evening,
he started pacing along
the neighbor’s fence like
a caged animal.
by nightfall, I could see
his face illuminated by
his cell phone, checking
for a message from someone
who has forgotten him,
who has left him,
who will never arrive?
late at night, the black
duffel was gone, there
was no man in the park.

Food Hunting

Food Hunting

Everyone has days like this, when
you start the day with left over
chocolate cake, followed immediately by
a protein-carbohydrate balanced
breakfast of eggs, fruit and yogurt.
Mid-morning, food hunting begins again
and food finding happens at the vending
machine or your office mate’s not-so-secret
stash of cookies and trail mix.
Feeling guilty, you eat the healthy
lunch you brought from home even
though you’re not hungry anymore.
Food hunting begins in earnest about
three, so off to the coffee shop for a
caffeine shot and cookie, a late
healthy dinner at home with the family.
Once they’re asleep, you look in
earnest for that final snack food,
that maybe is not so bad.
The kitchen fills with the sound
of popping kernels, the aroma of
fake butter, until suddenly the smell
is of burning popcorn and the fire
alarm is waking up the kids.
Embarrassed, you turn out the lights
and head to bed, snackless,

grateful that you finished the

chocolate cake today.

NOTE: “Food hunting” is a term used by my Italian friend, Luisa, to mean snacking. I thought it was a wonderful descriptor!

Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/chetcampbell/184341990/

Bathrooms

she told me she liked the house
but it didn’t have enough bathrooms.
Young and single, not an eligible
bachelor in sight, she still needed
two and three quarters, not even
two and a half would do.
Driving an extra half hour to work
to get the extra quarter bathroom
in a new house would be worth it.
Nice girl, pretty and well-educated,
and she knew what she wanted.
Big Papa leaned back in his lazy-boy
and laughed that long belly laugh
of someone who has nothing better
to do and nowhere better to do it.
Back in my day, he started,
we had a two holer in the backyard.
I would go outside at 2 a.m. and
Grandma would be sitting there
waiting for someone to come in,
like a spider in her lair. I couldn’t
even see her by the glint of moonlight
on her teeth, since she had none.
She would grab me when I sat down
and try to kiss me on my mouth,
her white moustache tickling my face.
Ah, he said, smiling to himself
at the memory, to have a single holer
in the backyard would have been heaven.

Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/zaskem/2064137487/

The Neighbors

they were on the front porch again,
smoking, as usual, glazed eyes,
as usual, nice boys, really.
music filtered out, the bass
reverberating against adjacent
houses, echoing in and out,
almost hard to tell where it
was coming from, like a hall
of mirrors, of sound.
one boy looked at his feet,
his whole body slumped at
the same angle as his cigarette.
Prayer flags flapped in the breeze,
a couple of dirty sleeping bags
spread out on the sofa on the porch.
the front door opened,
the music pushed two of us
away from the house,
down the street, seeking silence.

There was none to be found.

Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/23486686@N00/315708898/

A Young Man arrives in America

He arrived in classic Belgian style;
uncertain, poor English skills,
ratty looking with his worn
corduroy trousers and moth eaten
sweater. Perhaps he even smelled a bit.
A good European sort.
An innocent.
In his deodorized, sanitized motel
room, he flipped on the T.V. to
learn about his new country.
Nitro and Turbo were the
stars that night and this innocent
watched spellbound through all
ten rounds, wincing at the occasional
display of blood.
Needless to say, he did not improve
his English skills that night,
quite the contrary.
Falling asleep that night,

he marveled at all

this new country

could offer him.

.

Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/largo621/1792745198/