The Routine

walking through the Manhattan mist
past the well-to-doers
and liberals until graduation,
I drew my jacket tighter,
stood my collar up against the horizontal rain
and ducked into the deli
for a sandwich made fresh, yesterday
and black coffee in a branded cup.
"Thank you" she would chime.
Each time, the same rhythm
the same, hollow sentiment
the same pasted-on smile.
I jay-walked across fifth avenue
to the horde of student-smokers
nineteen-year old world-changers-
debating politics,
and the economy,
and Shakespeare.
"He's such a bastard."
"What now?"
"I should be allowed to sleep in class. It's freedom of expression."
The glass doors,
fogged from the gray-
swung open
and I breezed past the insecurity guard
and climbed the single-wide escalator
to find a table,
a shadow in which to sit.
The clock ticked on
while I pretended to read Flannery O'Connor
and understand her droning on and on.
And it kept ticking.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick.
To remind me-
"Make it last. Make it worth it."

Lennon

Wake me up and give me the perfect words-
with your imperfect speech.
Speak matter-of-factly,
truthfully,
of what it was like-
and what you always meant to say
when you said what everyone else heard
and didn't understand.

Or don't tell me anything.
Just come over and sit down in the chair
and watch me sit,
and think
and try to come up with something worthy of a minute's notice.

Trite,
wrong,
boring,
forced-
un-genius.

Tell me what to say, John.
Show me how to write.

the long walk

I asked you once,
one night, walking home-
when you caught up to me at the corner.
it was cool out,
and breezy
and I asked you,
how I could really know
what I should do with my life-
where the happiness was supposed to come from
and when the self-assurance kicked in.
But you never answered me
because I never really asked you.
We only walked
and spoke of the weather,
and what was,
and what used to be.
I made vain attempts at flattery
and eloquence
and you only told me to watch out for taxis.
And you let me walk with you
so long as I kept up
all the way to where the trees met the bricks
and the gates across the street shut at sundown.
But then I was too far North
and East-
and you were right where you should be.
So you bid me good night and demanded I sleep at some point.
And I left the one way street that ran opposite mine,
traced the edges of the park-
turned westward
to the room with the leaky sink
and the dim light
and crumbling walls.
And I sat,
and I waited.
Until someone else I never actually asked-
only told me to think.
And now,
as I am-
with my answer in hand,
I only want to tell you.

And you're no longer where you should be.

Back Burner

She stands - smiling,
perfect.
She arranges the flowers he brought her
places them-
just so
in the crystal vase in the foyer,
a gift-
seen,
registered,
bought, and wrapped
now on permanent display
in the immaculate
picture-perfect home.
With a cake in the oven
she runs back to the world she knew
years ago
when she was another one of many
thinking,
raising hands
raising questions
all too soon raising children
who run in precisely at 3:15 every afternoon
and beg to lick the batter bowl.
So the book goes back into hiding
until tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow.

to a boy

I would have loved you
for her sake.
I would have walked with you,
arm in arm-
kissed you in the rain,
moved across the country
and laughed as you built a picket fence,
while our children-
who certainly didn't get their red hair and freckles from me-
watched Daddy hit his thumb with a hammer.
But I didn't know you then-
and someone may already have taken the job
of loving you.
And she may have liked that person-
respected and accepted that person,
perhaps in a way that I can only hope she would have-
could have accepted me.
So perhaps...
So it doesn't matter.
I didn't love you when I could have-
when I would have
for her sake.

recovery

You'll come over and talk to me,
when you get tired of conversation with the rehab man.
He'll tell you to leave me alone.
He'll tell you I don't wish to be bothered.
He'll say I chose to sit here-
at this table,
in this chair,
with my back to you-
for a reason.
He's right.
I did.

I had resigned myself-
however long ago-
to staying away from this place when I knew you'd be here.
I had told myself that this was a place
I couldn't visit once the sun went down.
But I grew tired of spending my evenings
at home
trying to entertain myself
living vicariously through those who spend their nights here
like I used to.

And, once I realized that you were no longer forefront in my mind-
every day - you - my waking thought-
you - the blurry idea as I drifted off each night.
When my thoughts were elsewhere-
on someone else-
and the memory,
the longing,
the happy grief-
and I was past you and your words
your stare
your desperation that made it hard for me to breathe
and speak-
when you were out of my daily mind
no longer with your hands,
innocent in name only-
wrapped around my neck,
I could allow myself to sit-
at this table,
in this chair,
with my back to you-
for a reason.

Now,
however much later,
I can sit at my old spot
with a book
and a pen
and a thought-
a thought I've not had for some time-
of how I don't hate you
because you aren't cruel.
And I know, as I sit here
at this table,
in this chair
with my back to you
for a reason
that you are watching me-
waiting for an excuse to walk past-
make accidental eye contact.

The rehab man tells you I'd rather not be disturbed.
You should listen to the rehab man,
he knows what he's talking about.
You know that.
But you won't-
you don't listen.
You beg for how it used to be-
and I sit here and wonder
how long I will have to stay away this time.

You beg.

You are such a woman.

The Sophisticated Lady

I loved her -
truly,
truly loved her.
It was never physical,
never romantic,
never reciprocated.
I was in love with her
in the way we fall in love
with future versions of ourselves.
I would be graceful.
I would be warm.
I would be daring,
genius,
hilarious,
revered - respected.
And now-
as I am the future version of my past self-
she is gone-
no longer a physical reminder
of all I have to accomplish.
And I remember
as I am a past version of my present self-
that I love her.

Red*

we talked last night,
she and I.
Well, I talked,
she listened.
Well, I talked,
she stood there.
I spoke and knew she saw me,
but did not speak to her.

I spoke to her last night,
years ago-
when we were both in the same room,
and she told me how happy she was-
proud she was
of me.

We spoke yesterday evening,
years ago-
when I had moved on
and she had stayed where she was for now-
but was almost ready,
almost ready to go someplace warmer.

We spoke yesterday afternoon,
years ago-
when her hair was strawberry blond
from the Florida sun
and she told me how happy she was
for herself.

I spoke last night,
last night-
when she was away from me-
away from all of us.
And I knew how happy she was
that we knew she saw us.

*accepted for publication at amphibi.us

sentry

Look out-
look out past the shore,
past the water
and waves-
look out
past the rocks
and the sky
and the gulls.
Follow them
past the skyline-
look out
and follow the trail that they leave.
Look out.
Look out.
Walk on and look out.
Stand up
barefoot on the shore
in the water
looking out
to the sun
and the blue
and the white.
Sink down
as the water-
all frothy and freezing-
rolls over and under
and back out again
and leaves you there
standing
camera at the ready
looking out for moment that begs to stand still.

ticking

Just one minute.
That's all I want.
I ask for not one second more.
Just one minute-
of quiet,
of rest,
of calm.
Then I'll go.
I will.
I'll leave after just one minute.
Can't you afford me that?
Just one minute.
Just one more chance to look
and blink
and remember.
Then I'll go.