Rain

finally I wake to the sound of rain,

a steady drumming on the skylight,

the sky dark and brooding, holding

promises of many hours of rain.

my bicycle sits in the rain and will

sit all day, alone, in the rain; the

windshield wipers will squeak on

every sweep, complaining, when

I leave by bike alone in the rain

and drive the old red heap to work,

she hates to move from her

favorite parking spot where she

can look skyward and watch the

hours of rain stream across her

face.

too much to do

poems to write

that have meaning;

making eyes move the

way they’re supposed to;

watching rockets launch

while washing dishes,

speed reading a few articles

for self improvement

and learning to relax

curled up in bed

next to warm

corn bags.

Nightime

street lights reflecting

into downcast eyes (lashes

shedding raindrops).

A Painting

I always wanted that painting hanging on her wall,

the pastoral oil with fields surrounded by stands of trees

scattered across the rolling hills of the Jura.

I wanted the life I thought was there, with grandmothers

and grandfathers, aunts and uncles, assorted cousins,

where we would all play together surrounded by

the Alps in our own mountain chalet, our breakfasts

of whole fresh cow’s milk and French bread, homemade

jam, all delivered that morning by the neighbors

before I awoke to sun and blue sky, wiggling

my toes from under the feather bed and blue gingham

duvet cover, so fresh from drying in the sun.

Today, I bought a

my own painting of soft Colorado hills covered with

fields surrounded by stands of trees.

It hangs on my wall reminding me

of long hikes in the mountains,

bike rides along county roads

through acres of grazing cattle

with people that eat peach pie

with me, that hold me in their

arms, that love me just

as I love them.

Pink Flannel Pajama Pants: A Life

Today

I bask in the summer sun on the clothes line

after being pulled from the bottom drawer

of her dresser, examined for stains and holes;

passing muster, into the washing machine

and called back into service, soon, to warm

her skin in the night’s darkness and chill.

I know I am her favorite; I have only grown

softer with age, with her years of sadness, now

much more happiness and content, I often

brush against S or he strokes me while they

watch “24”, her secret vice that I hesitate to

reveal....

I love her and she loves me; she wears me

every night until even I agree that it’s time

for a shower and so I go in the washer and

hang forlornly in the basement (as I

will not dry outside anymore, nor will she

go out to hang me in the sun) until

she comes to me again, pulling me onto

her petite legs and takes me off to bed

with her once again.

Summer Thunderstorm and Dog

the hair stands up on his haunches;

he rises up from the floor, his back arching and stiff,

his hind legs stretching behind him, his nose pointing up

as we innocently continue reading our novels,

oblivious, perfectly content in the quiet of

our evening, our comfortable companionship.

The lamp flickers, the living room is flooded

in the electric flash of evening lightning

followed by the crash of thunder;

he jumps up, barking wildly to hush the storm.

his attempts to quiet the storm have succeeded

once again, he settles back onto the rug, we

pick up our books returning to our comfortable

companionship on this summer evening.

Strangers in the Office

she has dogs; I see their pictures posted

over her monitor in her corner cube,

she always wears ribbons in her hair

like they do when she shows them on weekends.

a large diamond sparkles on her ring finger;

she’s been married a long time, diamond

solitaires are no longer in fashion

diamonds are no longer in fashion

she is no longer in fashion in her slightly

baggy jeans, pink Crocs and floral t-shirt.

we smile at each other in the hallway

when there is nowhere else to look

without seeming rude, besides I

like her in her simplicity, she demands

nothing of me, nor I of her.