All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
Hard Rock Cafe, Niagara Falls
1
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could – lived to tell it.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
Just water on rock.
And yet, sheer power compels
visitors to gape.
An unexpected
crocus emerges, smiling
from a brown leaf pile.
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point –
my life in short form.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.