Happens so fast

As I sat below a tree I saw
a young woman pedal toward me,
her skirt rising and falling
with her knees.
She'll go on and never know
how I dreamed of her innocence.

The fruit below the tree
lay rotten-
the fruit it held, not yet ripe.
I dreamed of catching one
on the way down-
but it happens so fast.

And the dreamers shall dream

And the dreamers shall dream,
And the writers will write,
All while the merry makers,
Make with delight.

And the lovers will love,
And the fighters will fight,
All while the merry makers,
Make with delight.

And the preachers will preach,
And the fires ignite,
Still while the merry makers,
Make with delight.

And only on the darkest night,
Shall the earth be paralyzed with fright.
Then and only then,
Shall the merrymakers cease with their delight.

Ring!

Ring! The phone
must not be answered.
Ring! I wait all day
to be rung.
Ring! How childish
is the game I play.
Ring! Inside my
head I’m rung.

She thinks I dont know buttons

That day, we both got to work at the same time, and I got there first. I always got there ten minutes early. And on that day, too. I make sure I give myself plenty of time to get there. Running late makes me nervous and when I get nervous I bite my fingernails. When they get too small to bite, I bite the skin around the nail. I prefer the skin toward the tip the best. It’s chewy. The skin near the bottom is soft and weak and bleeds too easily. When I’m nervous any of the skin will do. I like to chew it up, chew it all up together and swallow-it-eat-it. If I think someone’s looking I’ll spit it out, as not to appear a savage. It calms me down, but just for a moment and I have to chew some again. It’s better than smoking cigarettes because it’s free and the skin and nails will grow back for free. Also, no cancer. My nails aren’t looking very good, and so I have to make sure I leave for work at least one half of one hour before time. Sometimes more. When there’s more time than I need I stop and get whatever drink with whatever inside. Sometimes they make me more nervous. And always they taste good.
That day I had time, a drink, bits of nail, and a fresh supply of skin. The skin grows back faster. I drank the drink in the car with my time and white noise was the sounds. When only the can was there and not the time, I started the final part of going to work. The girl was there then, also, and that’s why I say we got to work at the same time, but also that I got there first. We walked in at the same time, so it was all true.
I prefer to walk head down for less distractions and people, but her face makes me less nervous, or forget that I am, but she doesn’t know that it does. I let her pass by and I walk behind to smell the air she left for me and see her face a bit when she stops to hold the door. The air she left behind was just better. I smelled it deep into me and she laughed but no one used their voice. We both did the things we had to do so that everyone knew we made time correctly.
Most of her buttons were finished already but she put her wrist up to my face for the last one to be put through. Even with her face there in front of mine I became much more nervous than I should have been. In all my times I had completed all the buttons I had tried so my ratio was good. I used both hands and she smiled as I tried but my knuckles went away. I pulled her wrist and moved around and tried again, but I couldn’t do it. All the buttons I had done my way before but this was the opposite, being in front instead of inside. Even at the end I tried one-handed, like how I do my wrist, but when I tried to get behind her to do it my way she thought it was about something else and left mine for the other places.
I don’t mind any of it, but the time and air she leaves behind is just ok now, and her buttons are never incomplete. My ratio is pretty much the same because that’s the only one I ever missed, but to her she thinks I don’t know buttons and that’ll always be the same.

A Dinner Review

I picked a local favorite for my first official restaurant review and as I pulled my car in to park, I didn’t like what I saw. The dining process goes farther than just the food. Today’s “foodie” demands a complete culinary experience that begins with the decision to leave the house. A full parking lot may say a lot about demand, but when I have to park on the street and walk, the overall experience is compromised. As a food critic, you have to be tough. If you want to succeed, and make a difference in the culinary community, you can’t go easy. Not even on grandma.

I opened the door and the smells of a well-tended kitchen filled me with promise. At the request of management, all patrons were to remove their shoes at the entrance. I cautiously complied, trying to get a feel for the ambience, when one of the fellow patrons addressed me in an unusual manner.

“Sorry, we couldn’t wait any longer. But we did tell you dinner was at seven. Grandma made you a plate, now sit down and eat it before it gets cold.”

There were serious flaws here, and I considered leaving after I was refused a menu. If that’s how they treat a professional, what chance do you people have? Not only was it the only meal being served, but they had the nerve, nay, the guts, to serve meatloaf. Meatloaf with cheese. Possibly “cheese product.” They may as well have slapped a cafeteria-grade Salisbury steak onto that plate. The delicate palate of a connoisseur need not be tainted by a fatty slab of meat served in brick form like a hunk of government cheese.

As soon as I began to wonder how this would get worse, I began to look for a seat. Allow me to preface this by informing the reader that I have been seated in some tight seating arrangements. Likewise, I respect and appreciate the advantages of sitting close to your fellow man. I’ve been on both ocean liners and enjoyed Japanese style dining, and so have experienced communal seating. All of this I accept, and yet when I took my first good look around and saw but TWO tables, only ONE of which was occupied, I decided it was time to speak up. In my most polite, yet obviously annoyed tone:

“Excuse me ma’am, I can’t seem to give my meal the attention it deserves with all these people in my way. I would be much more satisfied if you could transfer me to that empty table, please.” You’d be amazed at what a little politeness, and a flash of the old clipboard, can get you. Usually.

As my request was denied, I became aware of how dry my mouth had gotten. I picked up my clipboard and starting scribbling notes as loud as I could. Nothing. Not only did it not garner a response, but they began to look as though it was me bothering them. If I had to sit there with these people, I was going to need a stiff drink.

“Ahem, I’ll have a beer please. Anything on draft.” And silence.

“Oh. Well I don’t think we have any beer. No one drinks it here so we don’t keep any around. Do you want some apple juice? I have some Orange Juice, your grandpa can’t have juices, you know.”

“ I’m trying to write up a generous assessment of this place, and you’re telling me there’s no beer? I get the whole grandma’s cookin’ thing, but I’d expect you to have a full bar. Dare I inquire as to which spirits you do serve?”

“None. There’s nothing like that here. As a matter of fact, whatever we did have, you drank up the last time you came over. Help yourself to some water; it’s what you normally have, isn’t it? That or the apple juice. It’s sugar free.”

I’m not sure what offended me more, having to endure a ‘dry establishment’ in a post prohibition era society, or being regarded as a regular to such a horrendous pile. I begrudgingly poured myself my own water, muttering loudly about the smudges on the glass. What lunacy is serving a meal, and then forcing your customers to make their own drinks? Between the service and the meatloaf, I truly began to wonder which was harder to swallow.

Just before my first bite the entire staff took their meal breaks. To my shock, they began sitting at the few unclaimed spaces left at my table. Had they all reserved seats at my table? What began as doubts became certainties. There would be no service for the remainder of the meal, thus cleansing myself of any remaining delusions.

I joined the rest of the crowd in their meal and cut a proper taste portion of the brick of meat and let it dissolve on the portion of the tongue thought to have the highest concentration of taste receptor cells, and a mistake it was. I spit that sorry chunk of meat right back in her face.

“If the nuances of palate lie in subtly ma’am, then the darkest horrors of culinary injustice lie within your loaf. Wipe that meat off your face and stick some in your mouth if ye be so bold.” And I’ll be damned if that chunk didn’t cut a path in her wrinkles, sliding right into her mouth.

“I don’t mean to offend you in front of your patrons, though I can’t imagine they are unaware of the many flaws in your establishment. Truth be told, you hardly look like a grandma. And turn off the TV. Is this a sports bar or family dining?”

And that wasn’t all. This crazy old lady just kept the leftovers sitting on the counter three feet away, wide open, and I’ll be damned if there wasn’t a fly sitting on it staring right back at me. A goddamned fly. She should be so lucky if I don’t have the health inspector wound tighter around her than her three day girdle. Don’t even get me started on this dog under the table that we’re all pretending not to notice. When I thought that I had seen the worst, the old man next to me took out a hypodermic needle and stabbed himself right in the belly. ‘Grandma’ tried to cover, saying he was her husband, and that was a diabetic. In this business, we don’t allow special favors to family. You can be damn sure that’s making the article. The day it goes to press I’m going to tack a copy to the door, right next to the ‘Condemned’ sign.

I couldn’t eat another bite, but I couldn’t leave either. I knew to take as many notes as possible, for there was no way I could subject my own memory to a burden so heavy. I reverted to my training and keen culinary instincts, clearing my mind, letting my senses absorb. I took a deep, deep, breath and felt my body relaxing and my mind at ease.

“So what ever happened to that nice girl you were dating?”

Deny me of a menu, parking, warm food, sanitary conditions, service, and a decent meal. But this was insulting. And, if I may add, well deserving of the swift backhand I administered.

I refused to take another moment of this. I stood up and gathered my materials.

“Before you leave, remember you were going to put in that light bulb for your grandma, I can’t reach it.”

“That’s all you are, a list of can’ts. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. You’re not so grand now, are you grandma? And your meatloaf tastes like foot! Lightbulbs? I’ll be using every bit of my free time to write as scathing a review of this wretched experience as possible.

“And if you’re going to double park the driveway, offer valet. I’ll be updating my blog.”

I Kept Her Change

She called me out at 3 a.m.
to pump her gas,
literally,
then took me home.

I kept her change though,
and donated it to cancer research,
with the hope
that she’ll be the last thing
that eats away at my life.

The Poetry Is Dead

They have carefully
slit my skin with razors,
and dipped me into salted water.
I do not scream.

They have removed my skin,
exposed my raw muscle,
and threw me onto the concrete.
I do not weep.

I do not refuse the meeting.
I cannot hurt concrete.
It is cold, hard, and dead.
I do not feel.

They have created my ideas,
corrected my purpose,
deadlined the muse.
I do not think.

The poetry is dead.
They are vendors,
And I create their good.
My veins will be their IV.

A Villanelle

I know right now you're here with me,
by the hold of a lovers embrace.
But you'll be back with him someday,

and anyone would agree.
But underneath the blankets lace,
I know right now you're here with me.

As I closed my eyelids softly,
I fell asleep, and saw his face.
You'll be back with him someday.

Pushing it out of memory,
as we drift far off into space,
I know right now you're here with me.

As lucky now as I could ever be,
before you fall from grace.
You'll be back with him someday.

I wonder if I'll ever see
that this is always is the case.
I know right now you're here with me,
but you'll be back with him someday.