Learning the Alphabet

we learn the alphabet in order
to excel at life; the hierarchy
of the letters, that B must follow
A teaches us to respect our
teachers and parents.
once we learn the alphabet,
we can’t throw tantrums
in public or later, curse
at our boss without getting
the dreaded “F” marked
in red pen.
and once we get to Z,
we only know there are no
more letters, but we have no
more answers.

.

photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/annaleahart/3861716631/

Habits

she has her habits, of getting
up and making her tea, a bit
on the weak side with agave,
of turning on NPR at a certain
volume, half listening as she
makes her breakfast of banana
and cereal, checking her
email, reading the Daily Camera
on-line and the poem of the day
on Writers Almanac.
(she doesn’t like Praire Home
Companion but she likes his poetry
site.)
when she goes upstairs, she has

to give Daisy her treats so

she can get dressed without

ankle attacks.

she dresses and goes
outside, nothing in particular in
mind, she thinks, until this morning
when it’s not quite the same and
the day just doesn’t go quite
right.

Photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/ultrateg/111835038/

The Runner

he passed me, on foot;
I was on a bike.
what happened to mechanical
advantage, that each stride
he took, propelled him further
up the steep hillside than
each pedal stroke.
as he passed me, he asked
me for water at the top.
i finally caught up with him
half way down Sunshine
canyon, now gravity helped
me,
finally.

The Bus Stop

they sit and wait for the bus
every afternoon after having
coffee downtown at the Dunkin’
Donuts, the one with that nice
man at the counter who gives
them free refills.
black, white and pink,
and I don’t mean pink gay,
I mean pink, dressed like a
flamingo out to catch a
new man, a feather headdress
two feet high, and those shoes,
my, those shoes meant for
strutting.
she’s not talking so much
to the others, keeping her
eye out for action.
the others
chat amiably, a little drowsy
after their decaf and donuts.

photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/richardthomson/2802112319/

Peach Pie

they will walk in at midnight
to find themselves enveloped
in the smell of freshly baked
peach pie.
they will find some raw dough
sitting in a bowl on the dinette
table, a small vice he
always loved.
they will see that the bed
is made up, the scent of
newly washed sheets
will smooth the frayed
edges of travel as
they drift off to
sleep.

The Lives of Objects II: Tablecloths

I saw them from a distance
heading my way, two beloved neighbors
carrying two boxes of cast offs
for the neighborhood yard sale.
Knowing they were in no mood
to sit in the sun selling their treasures,
I started to open a space on my table
to display the items; a cheesy snowman,
a vase for an amyrillis (no doubt,
the one still sitting in my closet
from three Christmases ago), a partially
empty box of Hanukkah candles and
three tablecloths.
The Hannukah candles sold for 50 cents;
selling the snowman was hopeless.
One woman kept coming over and fingering
those tablecloths and I had to tell her
they had stains and damage so she’d go away.
I took them home; they look quite nice.

The Weight Trainer

between sets
he gazed down at
his bicep, gently
stretching the skin
over the muscle to make
it stand out while watching
himself in the window,
wondering if the girl
in his heart will notice
and appreciate his
efforts.