Sunday night

chicken soup, French bread and Brie,
wine, warmed peaches and cinnamon ice cream
Spiegel im Spiegel,
Scotch dance, Minuet and
Moon in the Ruined Castle all flute
singing as the dogs' eyes drift towards
closed, their breath even and calm,
never mind the applause, a sleeping dog
tells all. 

getting ready

they will look inside my brain
and decipher chemical signatures,
tapping their pencils on special papers
with insurance company stamps
as letterhead, they will decide
if the combination is acceptable
for a full day of construction or
waitressing, while I wait for the
conclusions for doing rocket
science.
I already know
why do they ask?

chemins

the path looks softer to the west
but I am heading east towards somewhere,
I"m not sure where sometimes in the morning
I wonder where I am
or where you are, where are you
on your path, is it heading south this spring
shall I join you in this mystery or join the local
co-op or play my violin every evening a
warm cup of coffee steaming on the dresser.
this path wanders so aimlessly, I don't
know how to steer yet, the rudder is
stiff, where do I apply the oil.

The First Performance

an audience of one trying not to smile
which would make me laugh, looking serious
and attentive, Buddy at his side
looking the wrong way, such is my
audience of one.
I almost laughed anyway while trying to keep
my wandering thumb in place, my lips placed
correctly, the pads of my fingers over the holes
all without cracking the "E", that most unstable
of unstable notes, the gnome.

and suddenly my two pieces were done, I
hadn't laughed, I didn't forget the pieces
in the middle, not too many notes cracked,
ah success!

Condo for Sale

The grey smear along the hallway wall; painted over after years
of dog running along the hallway, rubbing his side on the way
to wake up the lazy ones still sleeping in bed.
the broken lamp shade; fixed years after the edge
chipped off from an overly rambunctious swing towards
what future we didn't know, couldn't guess.
the brown carpet stained in shades of brown tire
tracks, dog tracks, human tracks; gone, ripped up,
replaced with a noncommittal smell waiting to be populated.
a stovetop spilled over with the vestiges of paleo meals,
a countertop gone speckled, a refrigerator hiding
remains in its dark recesses, the bulb never changed;
replaced with gleaming stainless steel appliances.
the fox is no longer on the wall, she hangs over
a fireplace somewhere else, the mildewed towels
tossed in the fabric recycle bin, unneeded bike parts,
stained clothing, broken vacuum cleaners, ugly dishes,
excess silverware streamed out of the front door, clothes
reassembled in other closets, the front door shut
waiting for someone new to unlock it and walk in.

Cars

Childhood
I.  Bluebird:
he slammed his finger in the door
I loved the car, I did not love him.
II. Butterscotch:
She drove off every night in the sleek yellow lozenge
we ate meat loaf and washed the dishes
dutifully.
Youth
III.  Saab Sonnett
every else carpooled in a Subaru wagon
we drove in the Sonnett, his hand on my leg,
our bucket seats touching.
Adulthood
IV.  The Justy
Three cylinders of raw power.
V. The Prizm and the MiniVan
we are now mature adults.

2011 and 2012 Resolutions

last year I vowed to touch my toes sometime in 2011,
yes, without bending my knees!
and I did, I did, for a day or two, and declared victory!
this year, a year of alphabetical reading, from authors
starting with A heading
towards Z,
likely not getting there,
reading through pages previously turned,
books dusty from waiting on tall bookcases
for me to pick them up,
check the penciled in
price on the inside
cover, the first
step on our
adventure.

OK, I still have to finish For Whom the Bell Tolls, which is kind of hard to get through, I admit...and I can't use that book for my "H" because I started it in 2011.