Nothing more old-fashioned than Gaugin.
Chris in white shorts, driving the green wagon.
Antonio's dogs bark at no on and dusk.
Baseball here: Mann in a green wagon.
No, I don't wish to change the diaper.
For two years I delivered juice and pills in a green wagon.
Sweep the bat down the wall and she'll stomp it.
Pomegranates: easy to eat as ripe green wagons.
She served canned peas, fried chicken, lime sherbet.
"Dog, for the last time: I don't care about the green wagon!"
A man needs a strong jaw and a straw hat to look good in
this climate. He thought the swallows swooping the soccer
field the chickens at Walt's farm.
"You smell sweet as poppies," she wept.
Winter, 1936, Barcelona: corpse in a silk jacket.
Batter-dipped anchovies, smoked mussels,
tomatoes and bread.
Stray tom dead as an Italian cut black.
Chicanos own cardboard and tin houses in East Texas.
Ribbons. A child's drawing ripped in three places.
Gaudi at work: a boy on a low-tide beach.
After unveiling a casserole, she puzzled over the coin.
-both poems previously published at Mannequin Envy
Better Watch Or I’ll Lay One On Your Head
The boy had one laid
on his head. The wind lifted
his hair and laid it
down again. He brushed an ant
from his toe and watched it run.
A friend said What can you say
about mortality? after I’d grieved
and stopped, grieved, stopped.
I should be grateful
because you would be,
though you are no you.
Last night I forgot
all but hot applesauce
spooned from the crock,
then heard sleet tick
on the windows. I hate
it here. You are ash.
-both poems previously published at Red Booth Review
Air So Wet Breathing
Air so wet breathingis work.
The long light of summer solstice
curls down vermilion in the west,
new love or promise of love or lust tempered
enough to spade this trodden earth
on her way, bearing wine & hunger
for the meal I’ve cooked―no,
a woman no
metaphor can hold,
as none can hold anyone.
May we stand fast
while fireflies brush our faces
& the eternal, unrelenting
-previously published in May Apple Press