Monday, December 24, 2007


He’s asleep and we’re down here.
What if he wakes up, walks down the hall and peers over into the great room.
He’d clearly see us, even in the fog of sleep,
Our hands busy with the push and pull of packages

It would destroy him. How could we explain?
All the years of lying
You’re right. Don't think about it. It seems unnatural to act
another way.

He will find out eventually, you know.
They always do. I hear they even take it pretty well
when the time comes.

In the daylight we too will act surprised
and with a old resolve, we’ll keep up the lies.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Goodbye Charlotte

From my window at night you catch the moon’s light, and reflect
it back like the hundred glittering eyes.
Darkness seeps through the cabin window

As we climb
the televisions slowly descend in unison
there are colors, letters, moods
and a soft suede voice that makes me
want to take off my coat

We’re mesmered still like children in an SUV
The stewardess smiles as she
opens and closes the overhead bins
and points to future holes on each side of the plane

Then, as if through invisible ooze,
she pulls the bright yellow cup over her mouth.
In case of imminent death, please share

The TV says, “While you’re waiting, feel free to
make a selection from our snack bar."

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Doin' me wrong song

No matter how good I am to him,
he’s going to leave me.

Now matter how many times I pick his
clothes off the floor
or scrub his back with his favorite soap
one day soon he’ll be gone.

Even if I kiss him every day
and tell him how I love him
and fix his favorite foods
as soon as he finds a pretty girl he loves, he’ll be gone

Then I’ll hear
“Bye, mom”.

So, I’ll run my hands through his hair
a few more times before he runs away.

Monday, November 12, 2007


Friday nights in winter after the halftime show
we shivered on metal bleachers, the cold seeping into our legs,
wind numbing the gloveless fingers positioned on metal keys.
After the 50th first down, the scoreboard blazed the halting numbers 4, 3, 2, 1.
Then we piled onto the warm and waiting bus, peeling our soldier suits
off damp t-shirts and shorts or jeans

While football players and cheerleaders rode home from the big game
in separate buses
We huddled close, holding hands and sharing kisses
our instruments in our laps

Kids in school called the boys band fairies, but they weren’t all.

Sunday, November 11, 2007


He lives a life of tortured oblivion
Quietly creeping between our world
and some mystical realm where the day
begins near midnite
afternoons spin by in search of
fork, or cup or some semblance of a real life he once knew
Haunted he is by questions

We love his new cuisine,
yet we wonder where the recipes come from.
while he’s away, does a bird of the other realm
whisper to him of fashionable things?

Here he is, relaxing in his favorite chair,
asleep now as he often is
There it is,
that familiar laugh
and a smile upon waking

He looks the same
It’s easy to forget.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Car Seat

With eyes closed, mouth agape, head cocked to one side
you look like someone dead
But, you’re only sleeping in the car seat
in the back.

It’s not the peaceful sleep of babes,
but it’s the sleep of most children of your age.
Strapped upright, head resting on your chest
It bounces every time we hit at bump.

You’d probably say, “Who hit me?”
or call for St. Joseph
if you could talk.

When your are old and we are strapped into our final place of rest,
your friends will shake their heads and wonder
how we could have done that, when
everyone knows the safest place for a child is on the roof.