Looking (day 2364)

I look for you in everything
With or without wine
I can see pointed toes
Within black socks
Pulled up to the middle of your calf
And black hair
That I’ve never been able
To reach out and touch.
No heartbeat says maybe
More than your eyes
Working chopsticks
Can reach into mine,
Yet laughter didn’t mean
What I had hoped
As I sat up late
Mixing fables
With my loneliness.
So twist away,
Reach out with flexed fingertips
Where I don’t belong,
And allow me to linger here
To sort out my other side
And remember
The smile that set me free.

Green and Busy (day 1218)

Little kids are all dressed in green.
They’re wearing foreign flags and
Scrambling about in some kind of
Scatterbug formation.
It makes me think of the years I spent in ‘Nam
– And incidentally a delicious restaurant
Round the corner from here.
Chopsticks between eyes and arrows
And fabrics that tell me not to bring these new habits home.
I’m watching them with curiosity
As they make their way about the grounds
Busier than all the ants of the world.
Hands flailing in some random forms of symmetry
That builds to eruptic culminations.
And then I get busy and pants with arrows pointing South
Cross my paths leaving home-job manicured
French poodles pissing about,
Confusing the tiny combat warriors.

The Number Three (day 634)

Imagine the shallows of tepid water
Wading through with no regard
And tiny snowblowers buzzing in the background
Reminding you of childhood horrors
In the year of the Rat
With Chinese food at the local diner
Chopsticks and good year fortunes
Like hockey cards and good luck pitchers
Walking two by three down sloppy roads
Three crammed in the back of an ol’ pickup truck
The bumpy way from ice cream to the lookout
With sand banks and long lobs
Exploding in magical madness
Imagine all the broken bike tires
Lost pucks and dead tennis balls
Bounced bald flat basketballs
And the advent of the GameBoy
All within view of this
Tepid water swaying about your
Soaking feet wading through
Mysteries of histories