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The subject of poetry needn’t be love, or snowflakes, or passionate death,

but it seems that its them must verify life.

A Piece of Dad

He said, “I used to like to sneeze.”

When he sneezed the house shook;

A rifle shot caromed off the canyon walls;

Mother dropped her potato peeler;

The kids ran under the beds;

The neighbors looked out the window the first few times;

The air exploded into two distinct syllables

split by a sonic boom of multiple frequencies,

And he enjoyed every reverberation.

He admitted, “I used to like to sneeze, but now it hurts so much.”

When he sneezed we all enjoyed it with him.

Now the cancer eating his tailbone hurts us all when he sneezes.

A New Yorker’s Perspective on Anyone from out of State

An inordinate appreciation for the good graces available only to them,

and which they can bestow on the rest of us at their any whim.

From reading The North Stone Review

Anthological recitative binding my mind to the pages,

engaging polemics diminishing my overactive ego.

Bakery Perks

Yes, we take the bread crumbs here.

  Pack them up in cello bags, dear.

Take them home for meatloaf fine,

  or top a casserole and serve with wine.

You can put them away,

  they freeze very well.

We may as well take them,

She drives a white convertible

She saw me from across the park at lunchtime.

Not wearing her glasses, she thought I was him

and came across the park until she got close.

Then, too perplexed to say, ‘Hello’,

she turned away and walked again across the park

until he arrived she sat alone eating out of her brown bag.

Room 204

Distant words, sometimes phrases bounce disjointedly off the

 conference room walls as the monthly staff meeting continues.

Distant bodies enclosed in 1990 wander through

the almost white noise as the monthly staff meeting continues.

A distant conference calls me away and Gauguin

as the monthly staff meeting continues.

What’s in a Pill?

Saphena isn’t skinny anymore,

she’s bulging in her flowing gown of blue-black

and longing for the good old days before the cherry harvest.

If only they’d shut off that sister-in-law of hers, Fallopia,

she’d be rid of those don’t you sup hoses forever.

Or better yet, if they’d get Vas to give it up and sect his tomy,

she’d have it made.

No Sex Change

Bearded lady,   sometimes wishing he were a man,

    but somehow swishing his tail so hard that his pantyhose runs.

What will fall when finally he discovers

   that he may make it without balls or boobs.