for S.
Without a ring she’s
uncertain, the baby no
guarantee he’ll stay.
for S.
Without a ring she’s
uncertain, the baby no
guarantee he’ll stay.
She talks of threesomes,
abortions, things her mother-
in-law would faint at.
for Cathy
Too sick for green beer
she stayed home, watched bad films of
leprechaun horror.
Either it’s a loud
HVAC system or
white noise to mask fear.
Invested with deep
meaning, treasures buried by
trash. Dust, dirt their shroud.
When Robert Frost wrote
“Nothing gold can stay,” he could
have described child stars.
Bored orange nibbles
away black’s filmy fins. Sad
stubs flail lost beauty.
Like laser pointers
they blind in red green blue as
they save the planet
My door open, but
the rooms are empty, thoughts like
forgotten relics.
Stories always tell
of the one who wanders, then
returns home…like me.