Old Favorite Sweater (day 930)

I’ve unconditionally surrendered my old favorite sweater
It’s ok, I like her
But… there’s something about it
There’s a beat-up-rusty-truck memory
With worn seats – yellow foam surprises
You know, a once-was-navy-blue bench seat
Shift-knob-black that knows my sentimental touch
Caressing like I’ve driven her well
Like I’ve taken care not to drip gas-o-line
Checked the oil twice a month
And kept the tires at an even thirty five p-s-i

Perhaps the memories are shared with
These in-animate things
These pieces of fabric and steel-workers toil
That warm those chilling days
That don’t quite sit flush the whole way down
Letting familiar drafts rush up the back
Hands in my pocket

Perhaps this is why I smile when she’s wearing it
After all, it’s alright to let these things
Live a life of their own
To sit me down and coo in my ear
Hot chocolate and unconditional
Kind of love

It’s a Struggle (day 833)

The soul of a man was never here
There was never a judgement day
The seas never parted for sanctity
No dove soared over these skies

There was no path along the way
No dotted map mapped out
The road was never straight
And the going was never easy

I was never taught vowels to speak
Never held to stop the fall
My cuts were never cleaned
No wounds have ever healed

No grapes have ever grown here
The sky has never rained
Carrots have always stunted
No fruit truck ever stopped

There has never been love here
No kind touch from a woman’s hand
No laughter has ever sung here
No peace has ever been found

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

Memory Smells (day 541)

There’s a certain smell that works
That lingers around indefinitely
Feeling of home: thoughts, memories
It’s nice to be back

Things like this hit you first
Usually when the door opens
Friends used to say mothers cooking
Was the best thing about my house

The old work truck, shiny and blue
Still works. It’s a service truck now
Hauling around gas for the big guys
It’s got that western smell of leather

No matter how much I’d wash
All those shoulder pads and socks
My hockey gear would always end up
With that sweet smell of victory

When I crack a beer, one of my fathers beers
And a little white mist rises out
Only with the glass bottles do I remember
Stealing dad’s beers late at night

But of all my memory smells wafting around
I remember one that’s never returned
When I’d learn guitar in a tiny room
E – A – D – G – B – E ~strum