Re-reading My Life

My past self wrote journals
And odes as gifts of legacy
To the here and now me
Who grimaces at each line
And marvels — what idiocy!



He had opportunity
In the grand ole Kabuki
But his ricksha wouldn’t go
And he was a Noh show
No show.



A man riding a jackhammer
A waitress I cannot tip
An elderly bagger at Safeway
A soldier about to trip a wire
They all get paid while I sit
Heating tea on a radiator.


Office Dogs

I crack a drawer of doggy treat stash
And kibble klatchers cease chasing balls
Then stampede into my area en masse,
Ricocheting off the cubicle walls.
Brad protects us from UPS deliveries
Silly Ruckus is just how his name sounds
Gus likes to squeeze between my knees
Poppy’s a pro on biscuit begging rounds.
Mila’s part seagull, vocal and skittish,
Lily is content to tailgate Poppy around,
Old Pete is reserved and maybe British,
Puppy Kia runs paper clips to ground.
Pure adoration with no gripes nor lies
Drips from tongues hanging like pink neckties.


Woman without Dog

In motion and size
her shadow is lessened,
the cadence of her stride
no longer hastens, led by
rolliciking bursts of storm
that pulled her along.

Arms hang lax of what
to do or hug or caress
or beckon; hands inert,
missing a lifeline fallen
and gone like a summer’s
vine on a winter’s pond.

(for Wendover Brown and Bradley)