Smoker 4

I brought you flowers
borrowed from the bank,
but mostly from the generous
unwatched landscaping flanking
its 6pm closed doors
on the walk to your place
and I shouldn't have
done shots
of crystal clear gin
before heading out
to meet you for a late lunch,
and I wouldn't have
except for the fact
that I know how
pissed you'd be if
I didn't at least try
to show you I cared enough
not to show up
smelling like defeat.

Coffee

I had a conversation with the boiler today.  She is offended by the heater.  I told them both to chill out.  None of us laughed so I doused the light and shut the door and took my cold cup of coffee elsewhere.  Where spider webs did not comprise.  The cheap seats.

At the back door.  Mexicans on the lawn.  Doing work.  I would do.  And I am paying them because I was already subscribed.  And the only things I back out of are awkward.  Instances of conversation.  They're edging by the paving stones.  Talking amongst themselves.

The clothes lines are undisturbed behind them.  Plastic clothes pins sun faded.  Springs rusted.  The only thing hanging out there are the children I never had.  In private.  I'm willing to admit the fact.  Of the matter of our separation  is not up for open discussion.  Ever.

To the stairs I do not climb I am a bit of a laughing stock.  In the call and response trash.  Talking floor boards are just about the worst company a man could ask.  For honest opinions.  I return to the slats at the front window.  The blinds.  They were on sale.

The cat used to sleep in the sun by my feet.  Rubbing in the carpet.  Slipper free.  Pawing at a stain from a previous marriage.  And home owner.  I simply have to ask.  If Mexicans do carpets.  But I know what I should really do is take my cup of coffee elsewhere.

Space Pirates

We should all be so fortunate as
to have our number one concerns in life
summarily railroaded into irrelevance
by the impending threat
of being boarded
by space pirates.

Landing

Feet dangling
in the poorly lit airshaft
that doubled for a courtyard,
and eyes tracing the broken helices
of fire escapes that lead down
to what amounted to
a disaster waiting to happen,
we agreed that Typeface
was a bad name for
our kid (if we ever had one),
but Doruma
could still work
if it was a boy.

And Saturday rolled
marble clean as Friday
and it felt like something beautiful
to agree on an idea
that wasn't sex.

New York Red. New York Blue

This whole time
what I've been looking for
is you
in all of your
naked & laughing taken-ness.