Traffic circle sloshing;
pedestrians pressing up
against tensile city regulations,
flashing horns and sweat,
university student afternoon,
wiping off iced coffee condensation.
I am a dedicated historian of
lunchtime stories and
park bench vignettes—
a spectacled lesbian runs her pinky
through her lover’s curly purple hair,
as she looks on at the cyclist, filled with regret,
stumbling to avoid the picnicking workers—
together by convenience and ambition—
who pity the down-on-their-luck in their dehydration,
trying to find a pillow on the steps of the fountain.
The rims of my glasses eliminate the peripheral,
underlining the weight of disjointed conversations:
a chuckle, a skipped step to avoid a puddle
sweeping the storefront, eroding the road,
I remain, trying to separate scenes from the bustling.
The circle never exists the same again.
What does it mean if I dream about you?
What does it means when I see your face in nothing…
Categories:
traffic circle, angst, city, humanity, solitude,
Form: Verse
All of my senior moments are beginning to run together,
Makes me begin to wonder, if my senility will get any better.
The other night, while driving in my car, home from the grocery store,
I got confused in a traffic circle and drove around it three times more.
When finally I exited, we were going north instead of south
I cannot print the words here that were streaming out of my mouth.
I am the father of four children: three boys and a girl;
If ever I could get their names right, it would be such a thrill.
Names and simple words easily escape me, making it difficult to write a poem;
I have three dictionaries and a thesaurus on a shelf inside my … um, that place that I live.
I left a message for someone to call me on their answering machine;
Only the number that I gave them was to where I lived at seventeen.
I got ready for work this morning; took a shower and had a shave;
My wife sat up and stared at me, saying: “Dear, its Saturday!”
I wonder if I should get worried, or is this just a byproduct of growing old?
Well at least sex is still fulfilling…or, at least, so I am told.
Categories:
traffic circle, lifewords, me,
Form: Couplet