Picture: www.thescarydiseasecancer.blogspot.com

Food Value

Such fine dietary fare,

this hamburger and fries.

If not for the milk,

‘twould be better

to eat a

cardboard

box.

* * *

Hoover

The vacuum cleaner clatters,

it’s rumbling roar outdone

by clinks, clanks and clunks

of somebody’s

favorite

silver

chain.

* * *

Territory

Who’d have thought this little dog

had so much shit inside?!

We’ve only been gone

for half an hour

and he’s dropped

a load

thrice.

* * *

Nowhere Kids

Some kids seem born to suffer

the fate of rejection.

Their peers, a mean lot,

off’ring thoughtless acts,

of cruelty-

their best

gift.

* * *

Locker Politics

He leans against her locker

and smells her golden hair.

He tries to impress

but gets instead

a shoulder,

cold and

hard.

Picture: www.that1guy19.blogspot.com

Gorgeous

She’s always been a princess-

Daddy’s girl to diva.

Now she’s just lonely.

She’s gorgeous

and knows it.

Gorgeous?

Sad.

* * *

Compulsion

He lives downtown in squalor,

sharing a space with mice.

Through tequila haze

he finds his way,

but can’t find

his own

soul.

* * *

First night

Mere hours after their promise

he fumbles with her dress.

He finds instead

the inside

of her

heart.

* * *

First cry

It had been twenty-two hours

and still nothing to show

but pain, sweat and…pain.

Four hours later,

forever,

their lives

changed.

* * *

Redundant

He’d worked there for fifteen years

and never a sick day.

Sitting in his car,

this was a day

he’d rather

forget.

Soon.

Gangsta

The parking lot skateboard kings

scatter like scared pigeons

when the cops return

to apprehend

the loud and

fickle

horde.

* * *

Queen of Hearts

She’s dressed far too well for here,

this queen of hearts mall-rat.

She’s most visible

by the food court.

She’s banking

on that

fact.

* * *

Husband Shoppers

Husbands, out grocery shopping,

make piss poor companions.

If you want to have

a better time,

just go there

with your

friends.

* * *

15 Items Only

It’s okay, they’ll understand.

I’ve got twenty-two things,

but it’s all small stuff.

Please, be patient,

I’m with my

squirrely

kids.

* * *

Customer Service

Shit, this place is humungous!

Is there a chance I’ll find

the four small items

I came to buy,

let alone

some help

here?

Photo from www.phlmetropolis.com

 

View from the Security Window

Upstairs, two teenagers gawk:

“Hey dude, come look at this.

Check the rack on her.”

They’re on their break,

and bored of

doing

work.

* * *

Compensating

I think he’s compensating

with that bad-ass truck.

But on the front seat?

His little friend,

a tiny

poodle

dog.

* * *

4-Way Stop

4-way stops have politics:

Speed up to get there first.

Get there together?

Then wave him on,

(unless you’re

in a

rush.)

* * *

Fast Food

Food sociology says:

Poor people eat poorly.

Rich people eat well.

Thin people eat.

Fat people

sometimes

starve.

* * *

Cell Phone Rape

Loud, self-important talkers:

do us all a favor –

toss your fucking phones

in the toilet.

We don’t need

to hear

you.

Photo from www.fdbusiness.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The car door slams and with it…silence –

the deafening stillness of conversation’s end.

Tied as two instead of one from two.

 

It is the beginning of that stalemate

of back to back in unrumpled sheets.

She undresses in the bathroom.

 

Grunts, where words used to be.

Words, where dialogue used to be.

Stares where seeing used to be.

 

The carpets vacuumed a little too quickly,

the dishes stacked a little too loudly,

the radio blaring a little too obviously.

 

Four days later the icy surface cracks.

In the kitchen, his back against the wall,

with devilish grin, he loudly farts.

 

They’re laughing still.

They made love tonight.

Twice.

Beside the chair is a table too small for books,

books too small to read long enough,

in light too bright to hide the inconsistencies;

words too many to possibly live well.

 

Beside my memory is a tabloid soul

too flirtatious for dining room company,

pureed too finely to enjoy the chunks of life

strewn about the perimeters.

 

Beside the stumps in the yard

sleep the bones of last year’s plans,

the prickly needles fallen from the curious trees,

the crunch of old promises under feet, newly shorn.

 

Beside the evening, falling from the grace of day

lie mischievous hints of tomorrow, come too soon

but late enough to collect itself anew

in the hands of another.