I’m Ready

I'm ready for flip flops
and pedicures
I'm ready for campfires
and milkshakes
I'm ready for baseball
and lightning bugs
I'm ready for barbecues
and cool lakes.
Aren't you?


Her brown eyes implore me
for my crackers and cheese.
She can't speak a word.
She'd like to say "please?"

Her paws nearly touch me
as she army crawls close,
leans in with her muzzle
and twitches her nose.

Because she's part mastiff
her drool runs in rivers.
It drives me nuts watching
and gives me the shivers.

Her tail wags in hope
with each glance her way:
"Am I gonna get treats?
Been a good girl today!"

Her begging's elaborate,
she puts on quite the show
'til I finally relent
and say "Here you go".


I miss city life --
the sensory overload from
all the sights and sounds,
all the shopping, and a
Starbucks on every corner.
I feel claustrophobic
and isolated in this dinky
little town, like I'm bound
in a straitjacket, gagged
and tossed into the corner
of a room with no color,
no art on the walls, alone
with nothing to keep me
company but the silent
screams in my head, only
rivaled by the incessant
wind outside, that not even
these thick, cold walls
can muffle. Look at my eyes
and you can see the fear
being trapped here brings,
the suffocating, drowning
feeling of being trapped
here in this desolation
with no visible means of

I Love You Man

"I love you man!"
That simple phrase
is what you're most
known for. That, in itself,
is quite the legacy.
And always, it was "Kids
and grandkids gathered here
at Polly Brown's house 
today!" I never asked
but I highly suspected
that was your nod to her
for keeping things together
all the years you were out
doing your thing. I keep
thinking this must be
an elaborate, sick April
Fool's joke, but I know
it isn't. It was stage four
five years ago. You kept up
the good fight for so long,
but now you're tired.
Fly home, my old friend.
I love you, man!

Two Second Rebound Rate



“Well, that’s what we do! We fight! You tell me when I’m being an arrogant son of a bitch, and I tell you when you’re a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I’m not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a two second rebound rate, then you’re back doing the next pain in the ass thing.” – Noah Calhoun, “The Notebook”, by Nicholas Sparks

Sometimes I wish I were there
already, to hold you, when
you're being sweet, sending 
texts that melt my soul like
butter on a hot griddle.

Sometimes you're such an ass
you infuriate me to the point
I wish I were there to pitch
crockery at your hard head,
and make you run for cover.

How many dishes can you
break in two seconds?

Whole Again

Long ago, I gave you my heart.
I never took it back when you 
left, I've just gone through 
life with this huge hole 
where my heart is supposed 
to be. Men called me
heartless. They didn't know
how right they were. My heart
was all they wanted, but 
you can't give something 
you no longer have to give.
And so, life went on like 
that, until the day finally 
came when I could hold you 
once again. My heart slides 
back into that gaping hole 
when I hold you, and I am 
at peace, whole again.

Goodnight Sweetheart

Rest, my love.

Rest, and let the weariness

of the day leach out of you

through the open window

into the night mist where

it can ascend to heaven

as a prayer for strength

for the day to come.

Sleep, my love.

Sleep with the confidence

of a man who knows

his woman loves him

beyond all measure,

and his days of sleeping

alone are soon coming

to an end.

Dream, my love.

Dream of me tonight,

allow dreams to weave

through your hair;

into your mind like

soft perfume, rose

and jasmine drawing

you ever closer to me.

Losing Him

She stands before the mirror
staring at her reflection
looking like some sort of
crazed harlequin clown
with her runny mascara
and her smeared blue shadow.
She has to brace herself
against the icy sink
with trembling hands to keep
from falling. She's cried
buckets of tears over
losing him. She's all of
fourteen, but in that moment
she knows she's in love with him.
She also knows it's too late...

When he kisses the girl

When he kisses the girl
her head still swims
like the earth's rotation,
except her world stands still.
Blossoms and butterflies
explode in her head.
It still feels and tastes
just as she remembers,
that fire in her heart
she always carries for him
blazes ever brighter.
She's warm on the inside,
flushed and happy
on the outside
and it shows--
all because
he kissed the girl.

Cleaning House

Today I went through my contacts
and deleted other men's names.
They meant nothing to me anyway-
My cellular black book of games.

Today I went through text messages
and deleted ones from before.
I'd been too lazy to do it,
but today I showed them the door.

Today I threw away roses 
from a bouquet received last fall.
They don't mean much when they come 
from the biggest jerk of them all.

Today I threw away trinkets
more like trophies than treasures.
I've forgotten the names of the givers
and their gifts no longer bring pleasures.

Today once again I framed you
and placed you next to my bed.
I'll see you there every evening
as the pillow cradles my head.

Today once again there's evidence
you're back in your rightful place.
You've always been in my heart
and usually been in my space.

Today I'm making a promise
I'll live up to every day-
Your picture will stay there forever.
Nevermore will I put it away.