The Future

I'm often intrigued by the future
trying to outsmart it, get there before it does.
Who wouldn't love to be psychic
see the potholes and pitfalls ahead.
Maybe if I think hard enough I'll see it;
it'll come to me like an abused dog
finally trusting the treat in my hand.
I know it's there all the time
tempting me with knowledge
capable of opening my eyes much wider.
Perhaps if I bargain with it just right
it will acquiesce to my burning desires
to know what lies ahead. Will he ever
love me? Will I move to a faraway land?
Will I give up living secluded to be
in the uncomfortable center of things?
So much to know, so much to ask for.
It's like feasting on a meal that will satisfy
not just today but in all days to come.
It's the sailboat found far from land
drawn in by a most bestowing tide.

Lost in New Jersey

They used phrases like "going off the rails"
and "blowing a fuse."
I was sure I had this till the moment
we needed to exit the highway
onto a crossword puzzle of roads
otherwise known as Newark.
But I didn't. In seconds I panicked
tried to backtrack, and then
the worst: halted amid angry noises
like locked Ram horns. Foreshadowing
at this point: mass screaming over
K-pop idols. Laughter exploded from
behind with my every wail of confusion.
Evening sun blasting into my eyes
sunglasses fallen somewhere out of reach
after my "blown fuse." That's all it takes:
one missed exit. Close to losing all sanity
over being herded like 4-wheeled cows
and the travel navigation lady redirecting me
in that stoic, unsympathetic voice.
But like a god appearing, or a genie just out of the bottle
I was parking the car, the erected Prudential Center
standing there as a beacon of hope, of success
in plain sight, and just like that I'm back on the rails.

It Was a Good Dream

I dreamt of a familiar man.
We chuckled when they asked
what political ideology we support.
We'd never thought to ask or discuss.
We just assumed, of course, the same.
I answered liberal, for both.
He smiled coquettishly, "How do you know?"
We laughed out loud at that. How could we not?
Making plans for a party, a wedding,
something hosted. Working swiftly
through the details, like an overdue event
like we both knew this day would come
but with who remained the missing link.
His whole face smiled, not just the
corners of his mouth; the cheeks, the eyes
even the slight crinkle in his nose.
But that laugh, that voice I would
know from anywhere. What we
didn't know was what took so long.

The Thinkers

I can stay quiet, so quiet you forget
I'm there, or you wonder when
I'm going to speak again.
Of all the places I frequent
in my head is the most occupied territory.
I'm listening, assessing a room full of people;
me, being a chameleon, being average
blending, adapting... suffering.
I microwave my lunch, drink coffee
make small jokes. I can be any one
of them but not because I want to.
I'd rather be in a familiar place with
faces and eyes like my own.
A place where laughter is silent but
of course we are all laughing.
It's not strange but unique.
Not isolated but reserved, for us,
those who've stopped living in a world
of dim lights and ordinary voices
but who've happily stumbled upon
a brand new world of thinkers.

Reading Glasses

This whole time I've imagined
I might be special, different, exempt
from traditional aging. Like a dream
of youth so real, it could last forever.
A display of plastic frames with varying
strengths is before me now. Myself, in the
mirror above the display, is someone I thought
I'd best get to know. Changes are coming
and I'll need to acclimate. I wonder if the
hot flashes will strike next. I hear of them
blazing up a back, an unimaginable sensation.
But then, just a short while ago, I pondered
how objects that are near appear unfocused
when all my life it was the opposite problem.
Amazing how life unfolds, a foretelling of
what the body will and will no longer do,
as the years increase, and as who I am
slips away into who I am becoming.

Blackout

I took an inventory of things I said
and I know I went too far.
Sometimes you can't come back
with another sorry, like the boy who cried wolf
when there was no wolf, and when there was
no one listened, like now, like this sorry.
Interminable silence settled into an easy read.
I didn't need a psychic to tell me
it would all go dark, a shut-down of the few
word replies I'd get when it was still light.
I used all angles but my monologues grew
trite and unnecessary, even to myself.
My words lost their flavor.
I tried too hard to form them into something
mouth-watering and easily digestible
but I realized no matter the offering, no matter
how many or how few words I used
he would never, ever be hungry for them.

Saying it

When he said it she went limp.
He scooped her up from the slumped pile
she'd become, unsure if it sent her
to the other side, but whether alive
or dead, they would run parallel now
as invites would be only to her,
alone again, searching for a plus one.
She wished he'd said it in the evening
so laying in bed for hours would be normal.
Morning was the worst time to hear it
fearful she would not survive a whole day
without falling at someone's feet
hoping they lift her up into the next
while seared in her memory
is his suitcase, standing upright
waiting patiently at the front door.

Hostage

Feeling like a hostage no matter
who is holding you captive
is still a lack of freedom.
TV shows and baked goods pass the time
while an array of wild birds prance
and feast on the front porch.
Nonstop cold powdery stuff, their captor
covered outdoors providing refuge.
Inches continue to pile up
blinded by pervasive brightness
people like specs in the middle
of a white winterland trying to
forge a path to freedom.
Stoves simmering with hot soup
to replenish inner warmth
stolen, forced out, by blustery winds.
Long gone is grass, or anything green
so long as we remain buried alive
beneath endless falling inches of
Mother Nature's assurance that
global warming is no imminent threat.

So Easy This Way

Did I love him? Sure, especially when
I envisioned him a soulful person
and one with a chivalrous nature.
Why wouldn't I when the hundreds
of miles apart never proved me wrong.
It's so easy to be right, for anything to be
true, when no test exists, no comparison
can be made. In retrospect, there is less
evidence of its presence, but who can
see any of that when your belief system
is your staunch ally. Meanwhile in the real world
you're free from expectations a real love would impose.
This way, it's easy, so easy to say this is love
when no one requires any proof, and you
can still live and be the way you want.
Some words, some thoughts can come from
anyone, so it's easy to assume that you are
just anyone, and of course, not someone, to them.
If only young love wasn't just for the young
as aging slowly corrupts our whimsical
imagination, stops the movie from playing.
Fairy tales, then, come with an expiration date
as we forget how the unimaginable is possible
and that we are in control of our fate.
If loving a hero in a brand new fairy tale,
one of my own making, my own prerogative
is a choice I make despite the scant view
maybe, just maybe, there is more to be seen.

Spirits

The wind howled
trees rocked from side to side
a new snow dusting lay
on everything in sight.
Winter is tightening its grip with
perhaps its final punch to the gut
its fists of bitter cold winds.
I thought I saw Spring trying to
force its way through
but Winter is quite the bully
wanting to outlast its stay.
Covered in blankets
heat turned high
cats nuzzled close as they nap
through this blustery day.
If this spell lasts much longer
some spirits will be needed
to warm from the inside out.

Curious Spending Habits of Ordinary People

I never heard of anyone spending $35
on Girl Scout cookies before.
I mean, they're just cookies, even if the Thin Mints
and Savannah Smiles are deliciously addictive.
The zipper on her stained lunchbox broke
so she used a paper clip and duck tape
to create a makeshift zipper.
It's curious, the habits of others
like when they buy dark chocolate bars
and pre-made meals from Wegman's
and then can't afford the needed haircut.
Someone asked me if my soup bowl was a Rachael Ray.
I said, no way, dollar store, I think;
I'd never spend that much on soup bowls.
I'm glad we all chipped in for the new microwave
after the old, old one shorted out one day.
First money I've seen well spent.

Living the Mediocre Life

I walked through the the same set
of double doors, arrived at the same place
I do every morning at 8am.
Why would I expect something different today?
Like a cut that bleeds, work is no merry-go-round,
no game of craps. It bleeds; no variety,
no random outcome. It is acceptance and
acquiescence to a law and order that makes no sense
except to the ones who live it, count on it,
hide scared behind it. And disappointment arrives
when you realize they're not watching the good
you can do, but the bad you have done.
And bad is subjective, good is subjective,
and the day-to-day is survival despite it.
It's continuing to not strive, become, achieve.
It's finding comfort in necessary mediocrity,
a very early plateau with little to no change
in the flat line on your life graph.