the optimist living in a quarter world

he probably experiences a quarter life in one plane, neutral to happy
from (x = 1, y = 0 to  x = 0, y =1)
with a grin on every challenge even while collapsing on his feet,
the endless demands, solving problems which should not be his
but end up in his capable lap.
my experience falls within a sphere where nothing
lies within two dimensions, each point a different shade
and intensity, often a vivid  volume showing up in multiple locations
the emotional world is not limited by optimism
it may not be simple, it may elicit a groan but
I did not choose this, it just
is.

Accomplishments and Good-byes

She's always been pretty in pink.

And now she's not only pretty, but accomplished,

strong, poised and moving forward on her 

self determined path,

No surprise that when she saw me,

she exclaimed how small I am, it is only

that she has become so big.

Look at her in pink, they call it crimson

here and everyone knows what it means.

She's on top of the world and she knows it.

and yet, when all the gowns have been returned,

the microphones and sound systems dissembled.

when the cameras are put away and the large families

have dispersed, there is an emptiness that reminds

us that with moving on is also leaving behind.

I wore that pink robe, and now she.

this stage is over, the tables are being folded and loaded into 

trucks, I will leave this city with no plans 

to come back, no more Ph.D's, no more

crimson robes, 

I'll pack my bags tomorrow 

when I come back Sunday, she won't 

even be here anymore.

Cambridge will be lonelier for it.

he's happier with his ex-wife

she hadn't seen him smile so much in a long time,
far from home, a little alcohol, a good meal.
admit it, they're better together with double Ph.D.'s
and a couple shared kids.
they have both moved on, but she's glad to see
him happy and he, well, no one really knows,
no one has really ever known.
tomorrow there will be more champagne
and wine and good food, and they'll smile at
each other and laugh
over a shared accomplishment.
she will go home and laugh some more,
he will go home and resume his dour attitude
I can't say I blame him.

"Slumming it in Slummervile": No More

What happened to the Slummerville
I used to know, where no one willingly ventured
except for the cheap rent and proximity.
I'm not recognizing the rows of trendy restaurants
and cafes on the boulevard,
the heat is oppressive, my mind goes blank
as I sign the receipt after two glasses.
where have all the poor people gone in this town,
the working poor don't frequent $100 restaurants.
It's a lovely evening for a walk down the boulevard
but I wonder where the poor have gone
they are no longer here.

Planning ahead for Stephen's 50th birthday party

I hope they have big enough balls for grownups.

The 40th was fun at the Velodrome.

The 50th should be better, we'll line up for hours

to get in our own bubble and play.

The birthday boy will hog his bubble for hours

only exiting for a beer and some tacos, and

finally to blow out all 50 candles.  

not enough play in the this world between 

ISIS blowing up antiquities in Palmyra and

immigrants drowning in sea, the tragedies

will never end.

It's worth having moments of childish fun,

it's hard enough being a grownup.

Trying to remember that no one notices

I know all about the missed notes and the fumbling fingers,
the high notes that cracked and losing the beat, eventually
finding it.
No else noticed.
I'm in my head judging my performance for rhythm, intonation,
fluidity, color, tone, energy and musicality.
They probably don't notice any particular thing except
that I am playing my heart out
in spite of the missed notes and fumbling fingers.
They could only be touched.

Eggs

I wonder what the pecking order is.

do the hens who lay brown eggs lord it over the 

one who lay in white

satin sheets draped over custom nesting boxes

the larger ones with purple trimming.

I would be so jealous with my worn

flannel sheets and ripped pajama top.

my socks don't match and my car

has peeling paint.

I'd be a hen laying in a satin box, 

receiving a daily massage and a rooster

visiting daily.

I'd croon with pride when my eggs were 

picked up and packed in a purple box 

to match my bed.