I Love Snow

for Julie

I remember
the Christmas
that you and I
mended our friendship.
You wore a
cool, retro
fur coat
and we walked to
the park across
the street from
Debbie's house.
That night we
laughed and sang
about snow
with the Christmas
lights shining
behind us
and the future bright;
ahead of us.

(bright Thanksgiving day)

bright Thanksgiving day
drinking eggnog on the porch
sunshine and crisp leaves

(cat in a frenzy)

cat in a frenzy:
from the window --
watching falling leaves

Schooled by a Sock

Don't Judge a Look 'til You Hover

I was just schooled by a
black sweat sock
lying in the middle of the road.
I was 100 percent certain it was a
tied-up doggie doo bag
until I was right up on it.

(the leaves mimicking)

the leaves mimicking
the sound of raindrops in the
wooded autumn hills

Weeping Over Spilled Wee-Wee

Apparently, one of my co-workers
got into a pissing contest with herself in the bathroom stall
and lost.

If only she had mopped the floor with herself.

(Five wasps buzzed right in)

Five wasps buzzed right in-
to my face this afternoon.
They really bugged me.

Thieves of the Temple

My afternoon walk
was interrupted by
a vicious scene --
two black turkey vultures,
two agents of death,
two dark figures
hunched and hovering over
an innocent squirrel
in the middle of the road,
devouring every bit of life,
shredding every fiber of flesh,
mutilating every scrap of dignity,
annihilating every piece of providence,
poking and prying and picking and
pecking and plucking and probing
until the body was nothing but a hollow carcass,
just like my parents do to me.

(The tree bark gleamed)

The tree bark gleamed
with fresh raindrops as
the squirrel scurried home.

Happy National Coffee Day!

May you enjoy a hair-free experience (unlike mine below)!

Gross(iato):
Finishing the last sip of your caramel macchiato,
only to find a small, curly hair in the bottom of your cup

Don’t Sh!t on My Black Suede Shoes

Apparently, one of my co-workers
erupted in the bathroom stall,
her brown lava flowing freely
to the floor in the ladies room,
lying in wait to defile
the soles of my brand new
black suede slip-on pro Vans.

Gross Encounters of the Terd Kind

How does a grown woman
get poop on the outside of the toilet bowl
and smear her own feces on the washroom floor at work
and leave it?

Reverse Vampires

Some people who live alone
act like reverse vampires.
They suck the bloody life
out of their co-workers by day --
demanding and commanding the attention of their colleagues,
holding court by holding folks hostage,
unloading their every thought and question and concern on people
like a dump truck possessed of the devil --
and retreat to their solitary homes alone at night,
lying in wait for the sun to come up again
and provide them with fresh blood
to live another day.

Some Things

Some things
silence the
professional speaker.
Some things
stump the
international intellectual.
Some things
paralyze the
confident wordsmith.
Some things...

Little Did We Know (Becoming Us)

The day I met you,
I didn't know
that this stranger would
become the person
I know the best.

When I first shook your hand,
little did I know
that I would
hold your hand today
and commit my forever
to you.

The first time that I
sat across the table from you
and looked into your eyes,
I couldn't have known
that those hazel eyes
would soon
see the good
and the bad in me
and accept me anyway --
the same eyes that
I will wake up to
every morning and
close in restful sleep beside
each night.

Those first drinks
on that first date --
a latte and a root beer --
would mark the beginning
of a lifetime of toasts --
culminating
in a champagne toast
on this day, our wedding day.

How could we have known
that our first conversation about
music and Patty Griffin
would reveal a shared passion
that would bond us together?
We didn't know then
that one of Patty's songs
would serve as the
conclusion to our
commitment ceremony today.

I couldn't have known that day
that you would change my life today.

Little did we know that
you and I
would become
us.

Happy Independence Day!

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

A Letter to the Predator

Dear straight Christian friend,

When you post a picture of
a burning gay pride flag online,
I am not merely encountering
an expression of an opinion.
I don't simply see a person
making a statement
about an issue.
I don't view it as
an individual "deeply devoted
to a faith based on mercy and grace"
taking a stand amidst a culture war.

I see my friend
advocating -- and perpetrating --
violence against me.
I feel threatened
and frightened
and sickened.
I see -- with my own eyes --
my friend proclaiming
to me and the world
that I am worthy of abuse.
I witness my friend
declaring me fit for
gasoline
and matches
and burning flesh
and torture
and death.

I see that my friend --
my "loving, compassionate, Christ-like" friend --
is not, in fact, my friend at all.

-- Your gay neighbor

Happy Father's Day!

Snow Garden

Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.

(a cardinal and a bluebird)

a cardinal and a bluebird
sitting on a white fence
suddenly feeling patriotic

(Trying to kill the spider)

Trying to kill the spider
on my steering wheel at 70 miles an hour
without killing myself or my fellow interstate travelers

Happy Mother's Day!

The Dancing Queen

She taught us what it meant to
be married to melody -- singing
and dancing across the linoleum
floor, sometimes lip-syncing and
sometimes belting out the lines
with gusto. My sisters and I sang
into hairbrushes with a sparkle in
our eyes, while the vinyl spun
'round and Mom reigned as queen
of the dining room dance floor.

When I Read a Good Poem

When I read a good poem,
I hold
each
word
for a
moment
in my mouth
before
---- moving
on to the next one, like
one
bite
of creme brulee
after
another.

Happy Record Store Day!

To Have and to Hold

If I can't hold a record or a book in my hands,
it doesn't seem quite real.
It's virtually invisible --
seemingly nonexistent.
While I can appreciate
facets of the digital world,
I want to hold art
in my hands.
I want to touch it.
I want to experience it
in a tangible way.
I want to own a piece
of the magic.
I want to commit to it,
like a partner,
like a spouse.
No cheap fling for me.
Nothing to consume quickly and
walk away from easily.
I want to invest in it.
I want it to mean something.
I want to connect to it
physically and emotionally.
I want to see it,
touch it with my fingers,
and hold it in the palms of my hands.
I want to engage with it.
I want to spend time with it.
I want to spread it out on the table
and study every inch of it.
I want to join myself
to the force of life and love
that created it.

Note: You can see the prequel to this poem, "A Johnnie for John," here.

(I danced with a bumble bee unwittingly)

I danced with a bumble bee unwittingly
during my afternoon walk
very carefully.

Poached by an Egg

Finished the last of
the hard-boiled eggs
this morning and
stabbed my thumb --
the shell shards
actually drawing blood.
I never knew
Easter eggs could
be so violent.

(Two bees)

Two bees
during mating season
gettin' busy

(Dear Co-worker)

Dear Co-Worker:
If you're picking your nose behind your clear glass office door,
I can still see you.

(Dear Co-worker)

Dear Co-worker:
"Soft" whistling still counts as whistling
in our privacy-free office.

(The loudest ones)

The loudest ones
in the office are often
the loneliest ones.

They Say That a Little Mystery Is Sexy

We know exactly
what you think and feel
about
every
little
thing
because you tell us --
unsolicited --
every
single
day,
all
day
long.

That is the one reason
I believe "sex"
belongs in the office.

(A splash of water)

A splash of water
does not a clean hand make, dear
lady of the john.

My Ears Are Bleeding

People who live alone --
or lack a healthy, romantic relationship --
often evolve into
filter-free social terrorists.
They have no one with whom
to share their innermost --
or most trivial -- musings,
so they hold folks hostage
by bombarding and blathering on,
sharing observations and opinions
not meant for public consumption.
They drop verbal bombshells,
sending aural shrapnel
into the ears of their victims
and operate as if they have no reason
to reserve these comments and concerns
or to relegate them to someone
who cares.

Polished and Professional

He
wakes up, showers, shaves, dresses, combs his hair, goes to work,
and is considered a polished, professional man.

If I
wake up, shower, shave, dress, comb my hair, and go to work,
I am considered an unpolished, unprofessional woman.

Operation Umbrella

I woke up this morning
to discover that
I had been living my life
under an umbrella
I was handed
years ago by
clergy, patriarchy and society –
an umbrella that
limited my view of the world,
shielding me
from the sky and the sun,
sheltering me from
fresh air, free thinking,
free movement,
and my assimilation
with others
(and, ultimately, myself) –
an umbrella that
I had been holding
above my head
with my right hand
for thirty-some years –
an umbrella
I held because
someone handed it
to me
under the guise of
"instruction" and
"protection" and
"tradition."
That's what
you do when
someone hands you
something, right?
You hold it?

It wasn't until I
noticed the feet
of someone else
moving in a different direction –
a different pattern
than me –
that I dared
to peak outside
of the confines
of my covering to see
how that person
was able to move
so freely,
so functionally.
The umbrella
got in the way of
my view of that person
and it was then
that I noticed
the pole in my face –
the handle
that had become
such a part of me
that I did not see
it
apart
from myself.

It wasn't until I
became aware
of the umbrella
that I realized
that I was actually
holding something;
that my view had been
almost entirely obstructed;
that I had the use of
only one arm
and one hand;
that there's a reason
I had felt so
tired and frustrated
and limited
along the way;
that I finally lowered
my arm, released
the umbrella,
and threw my head back
to an open sky
and the smell
of possibility.

Miss Misogyny

What if we gave
patriarchy a breather
and placed women
at the helm
of the world --
mostly large, loud,
"girls' club" cronies
with inside connections
who view men
largely as pieces of meat --
regardless of their
intelligence, experience
or finely tuned talent --
women
who snicker to each other
when a man enters the room
and verbally rate his hair,
face, pecks, crotch,
rear-end, weight and
sense of fashion
as soon as he
leaves the room;
women
who value the
opinion of other women
over any man
nine times out of 10;
women
who, as a matter of course,
assume that women
deserve to be consulted
and considered before
any man's opinion is ever suffered;
women
who appreciate a
good-looking, fit, fashionable
man as a means to an end --
flirty ego booster,
Playgirl playmate,
sperm donor, or,
maybe, if he's lucky
and hot enough,
a trophy husband --
women
but who deem all
men who don't pass
"the pretty test"
as nothing more than potential
back-room assistants,
ghost writers
and support staff;
women
who openly mock and belittle
any man who gets
"emotional" after
being treated as less
than a woman or simply
a sex toy or merely
an annoyance
to be endured;
rude, harsh women
who -- no matter
what they look like --
are only interested in men
who look like
fashion plates,
models and personal trainers;
women who base
their opinions of
a man solely on numbers --
bust, waist and inseam --
women who dismiss
any man who challenges
them with a genuine
concern or thoughtful
comment or genius idea?

Oh, but wait!
That would be
disgraceful,
disrespectful,
discriminatory
behavior,
wouldn't it?

(He is offended)

He is offended
when misogyny is found
to be offensive.