On a Friday When I Don’t Want to Work

Above my head I hear the hammers sing

As roofers thwack the brand-new shingles down.

Our Shih-Tzu growls from her light slumbering,

Lids shivering in this construction zone.

The laughter of the Mexican workers

Falls like the ripped-up, hail-pounded shingles.

These men fight July’s heat like berserkers;

Though heavy and humid, the air tingles

With their languid, lunch-break-together joy,

And now I can hear the roofers singing

Some sad corrido where a border boy

Loses his life for love, and the ringing

Of the hammers on the heads of the nails

Falls into a rhythm that somehow lulls,

And the lazy dog’s light, raspy snore trails

The beat, and the Friday afternoon fills

With various musics, various love,

Various graces falling from above.

Wishing to See

My father-in-law proclaims

the local rabbits friendly,

so I suppose that this one

simply doesn’t recognize me

as a member of the clan.

He jumps through a fence-hole

and hides behind a crepe myrtle.

Perhaps it’s the barbecue fork in my hand,

or the smoke and smell of grilling meat.

Moving into the blazing July yard a bit,

I crane my neck around the flowering crepe,

and see him posing, staring across the creek

to where the tall grass swallows gazes.

Two robins land a few feet away,

tweet and twitter at him who never moves.

I look to where his eyes have gone

and all is yellow, orange, green,

all blade and brush and heat.

When I look back, he’s vanished.

I stand there for a long time,

my stupid fork hanging at my side,

while the meat turns black

and the night comes relentlessly on.

Driving to Pryor, Oklahoma, on a 100-degree Day

The steaming cattle lumber from the pond

toward the shifting shade beneath the cottonwood

where they lie, fly-tortured monoliths mechanically

chewing their cuds through the day’s long, liquid heat.

Do they miss spring, wish for fall as I do,

restless and depressed through endless July?

No birds circle in the pale sky, at least none visible from

here, the back seat of a Honda with my daughter at the wheel.

The trees and grasses along the road shimmer greenly

beneath the sun.  They reach heliophilic blades and limbs

upward through the heavy air. You can be better,

they whisper, turning their eyes suddenly into mine.

Haiku for Midnight

Rain falling, faster

Into the edge of the night,

Where tomorrow lies.

Emphysema Memories

Daddy’s coughing up that sputum again,

Hunched hacking into a red handkerchief,

His thin shoulders shaking like leaves

In the opening scenes of a thunderstorm.

When he raises his red eyes I see pain

And the kind of weariness that kills,

And the kind of very something else

I’ve tried to forget the look of for years.

A Reminder

The summer wind has kissed

The white hairs on your wrist

Under the July moon.

But you’ll be feeling soon

The paintbrush breath of fall

Stroking your cheek, the small

Orderly reminders

That it’s always finders

Keepers with Ma Nature.

No matter your fate, you’re

Destined for her embrace

At the end of your race.

The Jealous Angel’s Lament

One has to watch one’s wings when flying west—

The sudden storms can surge and buffet you

Before you see the lightning streak the clouds.

Next thing you know, you’re grounded, and you’re blue

Because that glib glory hound Gabriel

Has once again gotten to somewhere first.

Just look at him preening his white feathers!

I swear by Yahweh that I think I’m cursed.

Perhaps I’ll singe his sacred golden tips

Before the toff takes credit for the sun.

At any rate, the time has come to soar

Before ol’ Blondie ruins all my fun!

Once Upon a Time in the Future

I still remember stars, the wondrous way they flew

Suddenly towards me when the darkness arose

From the thin, distant horizon.  They clicked in view,

Holes in a mourner’s curtain the color of crows.

Floating in a pool—can you comprehend the waste?—

In a blue plastic tube, I’d watch them softly shine

High overhead, beyond my reach.  The wind I’d taste

As I’d taste the flavors of women, sweet and fine.

No bright stars arise now from this damn rancid black.

The last reported sighting’s been years.  In the east

No moon floats, sated and full.  Once it used to track

Time’s progress.  But progress—and yes, light--now has ceased.

A Dinner Conversation

The artist talked about her craft

Over a glass of Chardonnay.

Relentless in her repartee,

The woman neither smiled nor laughed,

But lectured us on discipline

And perfect use of line and light.

We thought she’d pause, and then we might

Have fled.  Had she presumed to then

Have asked me what I thought about

Her ideas concerning teaching

I’d have told her she was reaching,

And I’d have loved to see her pout!

The Truth Hurts

Our bodies fail, as all that’s flesh must do.

The fresh and supple frame soon falls, frail dust.

So we console ourselves, conspiring to

Content ourselves our minds have yet to rust.

But there’s the rub—our brains already fade,

And soon we can’t recall our bodies’ prime—

The gears get hung on all the plans we’ve made,

So we forget the reason and the rhyme!

Ah, but the Soul, we say—forever young!

Our Spirit’s white and bright as newborn eyes,

Eternal, taut, and keen.  Yet still we’re stung

By Truth’s uncouth response to all our lies—

Your Spirit’s sicker than your putrid blood;

Relinquish all vain hope, damned speck of mud!

A Kiss-Off

Sudden the savage comment, the cold sneer

That grinds the slow heart late in the evening

When all falls flat and low, and everywhere

The very air bears the smell of leaving.

Stunned by betrayal, you struggle to find

A reason, meaning behind the cruel words.

And somewhere in the corner of your mind

You see yourself dividing into thirds.

Someday, no doubt, you’ll once again be whole,

And all this anxiety forgotten.

Yes, surely you’ll find a suitable role

For one so black, so thoroughly rotten.

Heterogeneous

The microscope and the telescope

Ultimately peer at each other,

Lenses locked on the mystery

Seeded in our cells and the stars.

Electrons and galaxies whirl

Around hearts thick and dense

With dark illusions of stasis.

A nucleus splits, a sun supernovas,

And somehow we still go on,

Eyes clamped tight to the tubes

Tying us always to the questions

Our instruments strive to answer,

Face-to-face on the edge of forever.

Rainswim

The morning after Independence Day

Neither moon nor sun appears--

Heavy clouds the color of ambiguity

Hover like raised rapiers.

We sweep up the empty cans

From the swimming pool deck.

In the filter we find two dead frogs

Amid the bugs, leaves, and dreck.

The rain begins well before noon,

And soon the front road’s a river.

We drink the last of the warm beer,

And by two discover the lever

That opens our hearts to the day.

We laugh as we dive into its chill,

Plunging into the deep, deep end.

We remember that dark rebirth still.

Independence Day

The patriotic citizens of Tonkawa, Oklahoma,

Popped so many fireworks today that the air,

Wiped clean by unseasonal rain, was sulfurous

And rank by the clearing early evening.

My practical, construction-worker neighbor

Roars off in his wet, black pickup,

A huge American flag flapping from the bumper

In the midsummer light prairie wind.

On the far side of this tiny town, around 9 o’clock,

Chinese rockets rise into the darkening sky,

Shatter into patterns of brilliant color

Tracking bright paths to the damp ground.

Later, I stand beside my quiet backyard pool

And watch the air bubble through the blue water.

The wind rustles the surface like a wheat field,

My soul like a trumpet slowly sounding Taps.

Somewhat Lunar

I’ve never been mesmerized by a blue moon,

Not even while under sinister influences

Such as that autumn pumpkin orb

Or that distant, cold December one

Yearning for a proper solstice celebration.

My moon adorns the wide prairie sky

Much like a brazen pagan amulet,

And you and I stand in that ancient shadow,

Legendary lovers from a half-forgotten tale.