When You Know it's Hot

Not a soul on the street

but a unison of hums emit 

from neighbors' windows.

Railing paint peeling 

a bit more now

while dry grass 

weeps with thirst. 

Even the ant retreats

to its mound

too weak to carry 

a crumb on its back.

I threw out the garbage 

and the wretched stink 

from cooking scraps 

was the final sign.

And no bikes

no skateboarders 

no sunbathers

just me carrying 

a laundry basket 

two hundred feet 

one-way, under 

an unrelenting sun.

Time for Cranberry Wine

Neil Diamond is singing out 

beneath my feet

and I know they're at it again.

Drinking cranberry wine

laughing in time.

I envy their comfortability 

that only many years affords. 

At their tiny patio table

he taps his feet and thumps
his fingers while she's 

buried in the laptop computer.

One day I heard her tell him

the name of herbs she's growing

like after all these years 

he's never thought to ask.

Their bare feet and easy dress

shout hippie like nothing else.

I envy their every day

strung together like outdoor

lights you could mistake for stars.

I smile and crinkle my eyes

when they touch me this way

and I wonder if I'll ever be as lucky.

Sweet & Sour Meatballs

After he said I'm sorry

adding a joke for levity

I found me in the exact 

place I promised myself

I'd never be again.

Pining for lost affection, 

lost time, lost laughs, like why

did it need to feel like loss?

And it's only a minor moment

to lose: a night, some hours,

some cuddling on the couch.

But could there have been more?

Meatballs were already in the pot

too late to save for another day.

So there would be my bowl 

my fork, me, and the meatballs

sitting on the edge of my bed.

It took minutes, many in fact

to remind myself I'm not her

anymore. I don't wonder 

or doubt, cry and not want 

to eat, live, but lie saddened. 

No. Not this time, is what I said, 

when I filled my bowl again.

Navigation

The script changes so fast.

First, we laugh at everything 

flirt, act careful and charming.

Then, laughing, not so easy

forced out from the corners of lips

putting it there, to sustain it

to avoid being serious.

What's wrong with serious?

Why try to be someone I want 

when all the while you say 

you are anything but?

I don't understand how intimacy

is funny. I need it to be warm, soft 

like we're there for more than 

to successfully achieve orgasm.

Suddenly I'm losing navigation

like you're running me off the road

pushing back, or is it pushing me away? 

It's too new to know what you're 

thinking, so why don't you tell me.

Property Manager

The way she said sorry to bother you

bothered me even more.

The way nothing she said

was genuine after reminding

me, Your lease says I can.

Most of the time, having no mortgage 

or taxes, new furnace costs, or 

the need to mow the lawn

is my preferred lifestyle.

That is, until I'm reminded

they've got me with their tiny print 

on page five of the lease I signed six

years ago and is buried somewhere.

Boxes askew, and stuff awaiting 

its fate lays scattered 

across my two bedroom abode.

Purging and packing is all of life 

until I'm in the new place

repositioning my stuff

regrouping after crazy town

of moving arrived.

So if showing my apartment 

because she still has a job to do

occurs on Monday at 2:30 pm

while my life is under construction

have at it property manager

bitch lady. I never did like you.

Lists

Waking to rain trickling 

against the window ledge.

Feet wrapped in blankets

trying to arrest the

damp chill of morning.

Yesterday's work

I am reminded of today

by my trouble spots 

seemingly more troublesome

less amenable to today's work:

the list of chores 

still on yesterday's list

simply moved over. 

Some require it not be raining

others require more lifting

endurance of those trouble spots.

And the gray outside 

darkening the insides

with its shadowy purpose

keeps me rooted in thought 

in the warm blanket

accepting today's reality

that today's purpose

is to discard the list.

Not Just Your Average Friday Night

The fan blew air 

in her direction

but it couldn't stop the will

the momentum 

of a new spark.

It couldn't stop his hands 

from exploring her hills 

and valleys

listening for sighs 

and other-worldly

exhortations.

He knew he'd find  

her tiny motor 

that makes the whole engine run.

Squirming, acquiescing

she gasped 

at his every dive 

into her deep blue sea

until she implored 

no more

and her breathy calm 
returned.

Resting her fragile state

she looked at him

with happy exhaustion

and he looked back 

smiling.