Germinating my tomatoes

after I brush my teeth

I dutifully touch it to the little yellow flowers,

vibrating the little teeny weeny pollens so 

they will tumble geefully into the ovary

A tomato will be born!

necessities at work

Earl Grey tea with honey.

the woman down the hall coughs and sneezes,

spewing clouds of virus laden droplets to 

all of her friends and colleagues.

I'll stay in my office, or walk the other direction,

a necessity for this flu season, for this co-worker

she doesn't use soap.

dark chocolate with a center of almond butter

to free the mind, to accelerate thinking, because

it tastes so good and my trusty calculator,

I bond with everyone who has one, the HP 11C.

We are an elite club indeed.

Writing code instead of poems

hunched over the laptop writing code
A = linspace(1,100);  X(:,1) = A
I should be writing of dancing maculele and
Snow tires crunching on unplowed bike paths,
Of the border collie running towards me in an
Exuberant leap
But no - Monday creeps upon me on Saturday and
Sunday, deadlines looming and the quotidien
Pleasures hidden under me, hunched over writing
Code, not poetry.

a different world

they may not have much, a few skyscrapers

towering over packed dirt fields,

the call to prayer five times a day

but they have freedom from violence.

they don't walk to university wondering if 

they will survive the day, whether they said

the last good-bye to friends and family.

their feet are covered in dust as most roads

are not paved, ISIS fighters do not roam

the streets or fly overhead.

they may not have much, but they

have freedom from fear

that is freedom

working out in the snow

lifting weights with a snow shovel

no need for a gym

no need for a personal trainer

or fancy yoga pants

no need for fans to cool you

or expensive shoes, no need 

for a car to take you there or

the perfect class on the right day,

today is the perfect day

shoveling snow under blue sky.

slogging through the snow, alone

the snow fell heavily onto my shoulders,
arms and legs, the leaden movement of my bike tires
through inches of fluffy snow, my breath froze
onto my glasses and the world turned white
I was alone on this path of cold and white,
the cars rushed by on the adjacent road
a camouflage of quiet white.

hangin' out with Tess

she wears pajamas at noon
and frets over whether the banana bread
is overcooked
she notes that she didn't mix the batter very well
we bite into some pockets of salt
and laugh
it's all good.
so we lean over our art work, be what it may,
not particularly attractive, watercolors smeared across
ink and badly drawn on top of it
but as with the banana bread, handmade with love
and delicious