My father's heart beats beneath the baseboards
of my chest
What scares me isn't the furnace inside it
It isn't all the hate and ignorance
It shuffles on its cane
Buh bump
Buuuuuuh bump
Buhbump
Dragging slowly, out of time
Learned it from his dad,
He told me.
Maybe his uncle
Maybe his brother
Maybe his grandfather
Maybe his sister
Maybe his nephew
"We got weak hearts son" he said
"I found my father holding hands with his and that's how you'll find me, too."
I ran.
I couldn't find him like that.
I put my ear to my son's chest every day.
Civilization
They take root
and sprout up like
the corn that used
to fill these fields.
Acres of grassland,
fertile farmland,
and the houses
grow day by day.
Trucks filled with
house parts, baseboards,
light fixtures, windows,
sinks and toilets,
concrete for driveways
ply the muddy streets,
soon to be covered
with macadam.
Forests decimated,
their precious oxygen
gone as the logs
are hauled away
to the paper mill.
Nature gives way
to more civilization.
Animal habitat destroyed.
The tracts mushroom,
first one, then two,
then a hundred, a thousand.
Houses complete,
lawns are tended,
concrete covers patios,
everything neat and tidy
a paean to overpopulation.
Harmless guest
Underneath Zoom chair
Some small creature fleeing in confusion
Ah ha, a brown lizard, harmless four-legged guest
Hiding and scared, aren’t you?
So am I
Please do not visit me in bed tonight
Mi-casa-su-casa
prey on insects and spiders all you want
and Thank you
for house cleaning service
Mi-casa-su-casa
Enjoy this big playground
hanging out in small covered spaces
under any couches, chairs, desks, bookshelves, or tables in the house
Closets, vents, baseboards, cushions, and potted plants
unlimited places to hide
One early morning
A two-legged guest picks up his underpants
Surprise!
A four-legged guest skydive dropping onto the ground
fleeing in amusement
It isn’t the incandescence that bothers me
It’s that anyway you spin the arrow,
Whatever goal or mission or path you undertake,
They’re all correct.
The full force of your efforts is all that matters.
A congress of pelicans came to dinner last night
While I swung scallops at the High Mistress.
The miasma! My asthma!
You’ve driven me right down Knucklehead Lane now.
My knee hurts. I should’ve taken Hertz and
Let the engine roar up into a God-awful thunder.
Jumping in and out of mosques.
Carrying news I can't interpret.
Practicing silliness under the cupboard,
Beside the space that has no name.
I am that space with a wicked haughtiness.
I am also however lofty I dare my balloon to rise,
Navigating my own slim spool.
Dr. Thumbopolis is ready for me now.
Time to stop writing.
Don’t dare bring this back to “incandescence.”
(You horrible hack.)
What bothers you if not the flooding light
Busting through baseboards, then?
Go on. Answer.
I want one.
How many times have I said this?
That damned cat is killing the good rug.
Like death, the cold bathroom waits.
I fear what's ahead, but what do they care?
From everywhere they appear from rings of smoke,
Or the night winds blow in old familiar tastes,
And I remember those white-hot cigarettes.
I curse that cat for clawing new-painted baseboards
To ash. Ashes! cold when the party is over.
I can still smell burnt paper.
My memory understands this,
And the mirror does not lie, yet somehow,
My hands will learn new habits.
The tongue knows for a fact
That while I speak tomorrow's words,
My body will still weep at withdrawal.
So, who will speak for this cold cat,
Whose breath is like new toothpaste?
To tease me after breakfast,
Craving perches on on my shoulders, laughs,
Then drags minutes into hours, days.
Days! they come and go as they will,
Yet want still lingers in the shadows.
Out of my living room window I see
The sunset trees appear to grow taller.
I smile at their efforts, at myself.
I know I can do this.
She bought a computer
Hooked it up by herself
Thought that she'd find a suitor
Fit for a tudor
She'd heard friends talking
How they entered the game
She felt she knew now
She could do the same
She filled out the description
How she was tall and slim
Job experience on a whim
Lingerie model should please them
Long flowing blonde hair
Pouty lips to boot
Sure this description was a hoot
What else could she say about such a beauty as she
When looking in the room
A different scene we see
Old dumpy woman
Down on her knees
Scrubbing the floors
Baseboards too
Ruffened hands from labor
Would this work at all
Only being truthful
Will get you a date
Even if your life is getting on late
Tell all the qualities that are inside
That is the way to be a bride
(This is not an original idea but comes from an old TV commerical of years ago when
computers first became available for the general public. I need to work on this.)