POEM A DAY 2019

If Only... Haiku

Grasping for perfection

i tried to bake the perfect cookies
for us to decorate upon your return
and before your departure
some of them burned
i tried to make the perfect frosting
to ice each cookie
and pipe colorful designs
some of it curdled
i failed at being the perfect almost wife
but you liked the cookies anyway
maybe you’re the perfect almost husband
or maybe we’re both just more human
together

shouting in the car
on the way back
to the Italian Market

all four of us slicked wet
by the rain as seals

40 Dogs

Halfway through the song
I realize that you live there
In the passage from chorus to second verse
All your joy and discovery
All your disappointments and failed attempts
You spinning me at my wedding
Your burning heart looking for fuel in a forest that was always too damp for you
I'm not sure you ever transitioned to the colored part
Like in the Wizard of Oz movie
I'm afraid of how similar we are.
I'm afraid of you dying still wanting
I'm afraid of you dying still lying
Talking yourself into happiness
I'm afraid of you dying.
We know you spend your 4AMs crying
Alone in the living room

24 HOURS IN THE OVEN

Cast iron chicken.
Two pans of thick cake brownies.
Trader Joe’s pizza.

entirely plagiarized from riverdale

except this beginning part where i say that i am drinking wine and forgot
about this poem thing.
good shabbes, cheryl blossom.
everyone knows how much i loved my brother.
it was strange, unnatural.
so you shot him between the eyes.

A Boy Who Went by his Middle Name

I don't see the shy guy in the shiny vest
Or the pancake maker in pajamas
The pie-in-the-face smasher
Grinning mischievously or the poker
Picking out Charlie Brown on the piano
The ringleader of mud hut builders
Failing gloriously in the cloud forest
Or the madman gunning the Trooper
Up the slope from the waterfall

I envision the man whose only vow
The weekend of the wedding that didn't happen
Was: "Allow"
A casual magician with his grandparents' hands
Hands that pop my daughter's shoulder back in place
When it dislocates jumping on the bed on Christmas day

A boy who went by his middle name.

Same Lino

Living
New Forest Living
Life
Lifestyles
Hampshire LIVING

Who's to be corralled into chip crumbed
pub backroom,
fireplaced, full and needless in contentment?
Quiet, slow, sighing into place,
backs crack,
in lieu of logs,
in sitting down,
in standing up,
in slinging dinner heft.

The easy mirror,
you see these mags splayed
county wide on coffee tables,
where beyond the sideboard,
the kitchen lino
is the same
whenever I indulge,
wonder where to live next.
The same bad decisions,
from Ft Lauderdale to
Fordingbridge.

It feels small here,
I don't agree with the talking heads,
it's as if I'm arguing with myself,
I'm too vain for this place,
but I'm too quiet for the other.

we always tell ourselves we will be careful
and not do the bad thing
that is the easy thing
this is the fast thing
that is the cheap thing
we will be so full of care
we will not slip up
not even once
we know that bag is weak
will rip
will not hold up
will spill ourselves upon the floor
we know the word we could say
and have the drink
thrown in our face
it was planted in us
for us not to say it
we won't let
the breeze in
the sand in
it wheedles
finds its way in through
a hole in our back
it worms its way to the word
we said we would guard
this is why we must be vigilant

maybe that is why
krista stokes gave me tweezers
as a favor at her fourteenth birthday party
to protect me from the breeze
the sand
to fix my face
ready