Brussel Sprouts

brussel sprouts boiled, blah blah, puke puke!
brussel sprouts broiled, yum yum, yum  yum!
brussel sprouts baked au gratin, yes yes, yes yes!
brussel sprouts blanched, another ruin!
brussel sprouts so maligned, so unloved,
yet so lovely, broiled, baked, roasted,
dressed, undressed, eated leaf by
delicate leaf.

Blue Hatted Man

his hat didn't match his suit
that autumn of golden leaves and rainbows.
his shoes clicked on the pavement like
a woman's high heels on the way to the opera.
we know each other from somewhere.
his tie was a red floral pattern,
his shirt a silky creamy color,
a charcoal grey suit.
he wore shoes with wing tips
I looked up into the blue chilly
sky and understood his need
for his blue knit hat.

Your human qualities make me sad

A is for avarice
H for hypocrisy, so human
we believe we are different from you in
our specific sins;
certainty in times of doubt
surliness when a gentle touch is called for
a rude retort in place of silence.
S for selfishness, the saddest seed of
discontent, our backs to each other in
what should be a comfy bed.

Talking Motherhood in the Locker Room

they promised to be more present
with their children,
after yoga
and lunch,
a manicure and
a quick stop at
Whole Foods.

Cheese Fondue

he said he was on a diet
who would believe as he
lifted a petite fondue fork to his mouth
loaded with fat, 100% fat, delicious
Gruyere and Emmental
cheese, melted into white
bread, our mouths dripping
in white wine.

I'm slipping

what happened to wednesday
that nothing was written, not even noticed
even by me who sits every night here
by the window watching the moon
rise and fall again tonight a sliver
of light resting against an unseen cradle
does the moon have a mother?

Time to love

it's time to love, the chances are
that it's not too late, with good reason
people have told me that later in
life, one may be more open to
forgiveness.

(This poem was prompted by seeing a letter from my mother folded in exactly this way on my desk as I pondered what to write about.)