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.