ONE
A dead man is trying to sell me his son.
Try explaining that to the neighbors.
Yes, yes. I see your car. Yes. I see
your name. I cannot put out the fire.
Take it up with the authorities.
TWO
A live man wants what he wants.
His family is pleased that he makes it
impossible for me to give it to him.
How simple it is to be wretched.
How wretched it is to be simple.
I kiss myself in the dirty mirror.
THREE
Another man alive works long hours
on a TV show. He does not know me
but I dream of him. If he met me,
he would see he could do better,
but he would sit through a latte
and nod with wise, warm eyes
before laughing later to a friend
over a glass of shiraz.
THREE AND A HALF
Thriftstore shifts. Letters to
Sartre. The world is quick
to be cruel. This is what you
must know. Thank God if you
are safe enough.
FOUR
The one who gets away gets the worm?
The late bird gets the early bird?
The jackrabbit gets the getaway car?
None of these.
Forgive me, I only barely understand
this myself. I recall a sandwich, uneaten.
A room, fled. An empty playground.
FOUR AND A QUARTER
Bare feet thump on a wooden deck.
They speak rhythm.
I spoke rhyme, alas.
Too late, too late,
says the feline queen.
Don’t underestimate grace,
wisdom, a royal timeline.
The corgis are coming!
The corgis are coming!
FOUR AND A HALF
Soulmate, soulfire,
soulnothing.
All three in a yurt?
Why not? What happens
in Vegas stays where you
put it. Sit. Stay. Down.
FIVE
I did not get to keep the man I married.
But when I touch my daughter’s hair,
I touch his. No one can stop this,
not even Boston Globe readers.
The world has its way of throwing
us our bones. It knows we will die
with nothing to gnaw, without locks
of hair gripped in our fists.
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