Sundayed

Sundayed


It was Monday
but felt like Sunday
slow air stood
heavy over yards
not moving
leaves bright
under clouds
stuck dry to
no green grass

soundless people
not in cars
swung into mowers
then vanished

clouds thick
over each other
created then scattered
over what felt rain
but wasn't

and in the sky
no planes
although there must
have been flights

somewhere

A bit of advice

A bit of advice

It is not true
that men say
"I love you"
only when they
want sex.

They also want
their egos kissed.

To The Daddy Generation

To The Daddy Generation


Honoring Vice Pres Mondale,
with Pres. Carter to speak.
Mondale is my mom's age,
Carter, my dad's.

My uncle and aunt
are 88 or so.
My dad will be 90.

I look at the good wrinkles
soft white hair
bald or balding heads
their well-intentioned
liver marked
poll watching hands

and think how hard they fought
for that abstract, equality,
in World War 2
and after,

or thought they did

only to face the trashing
of hopes
in the 2010's
as the guns ran wild

and the cold and hot anger
from uncivil  way right
states
congealed all around
the remnants
of middle class
moderate reason

Once upon a time
the Dads worked hard
;and thought it would be enough

It wasn't


.

A Goodbye So Quiet

A Goodbye So Quiet


Would it have helped
after 14 years

if I;d framed things
in the elaborate politeness
your language demands..

if I'd fought
in the mock-anger
you once explained..

if my impatient American self
had cooked
with masalas
and chick peas...

blended gourds
and ground beef
pre-soaked pulses...

with gentle
sour and spice
meeting...

if I'd learned
to move in yoga-rich
grace

a piquant and yet still
soul-cleansing
slowness?

To New York Rats

To New York Rats

One dragged a pizza slice
down subway stairs.

Another fought with
and killed a pigeon.

And believe it or not,
these were not
particularly muscled
or strong rats.

They were your pretty average,
garden variety (and yes,
New York has gardens
aplenty).

So the question is:
what is inspiring them?

Water? Air? Genes?
Police? Rat rallies?
Are they organizing?
"All rats for one
and one rat for all?"
"Rats to the barricades"?

Or are they reading up
and acting on
some inner rat core
inspiration?
"There comes a time
to every rat.."

Or is it the prospect
of autumn in New York
that powers their breathing
city rat selves?
"I love fall - more food
hanging around, and the
air sings of cool rat happy
things?"

Some blogs, perhaps,
interviews with
New York ratdom?
"Hey, it's great
to hang out in
New York subways
and in the shadow
of department stores?"

Perhaps the thought
of the Mets as a wildcard team,
and all the peanuts
they could swipe
from the stadium?

In any case, New York rats,
you're making yourselves
and city ratdom
known and feared
and clicked.

Hits in the millions.

So - a rat anthem?

Are you just proud
of making your
ratty furry peeps
household images?

The Mets. Jets.

Rets?

No Just No

No Just No


Suburbs and I
don't mix.
Houses sort of apart
and streets sort of quiet
and alarms out of nowhere
with lawn mowers groaning
just when you figure
that at least you can
play in the yard
and see birds.

And when you see a neighbor
and she sees you,
there's this distaste
because you're too close
and yet too far apart
and there's no context
for hello
and a smile
just scares her
into the latest mode
of suburban
hiding.

And her body language
contorts into
some odd Philadelphian version of
not ready

Roberts Station when we walked

Roberts Station when we walked



When we walked up to
or near
Roberts station,
it was only a sign
and a small shelter

and you only
had to cross one road
to be there

We walked near there
in spring
to spot cocoons
and we lagged there
in autumn
because of all the small
unnamed trees
turning red
on the sides
of the tracks

Now it has two roads
and islands
on either side
and a bypass -
parking lots
and nothing at all
growing near the tracks

on the sidewalks
are huge trees

and four cafes
within five blocks
all over over priced

instead of the small pizza
joint
a block away

and no one walks
near the tracks

I have no idea
of what happened
to the small trees

Nothing scraggles
or slips around
anymore

It is not allowed.

Friends in Poems

Friends in Poems Friends move, change, destroy create, cry, laugh, get angry, get sad, exult. All the words they speak or write move in and out of lives like unpredictable weather, blurring then coming around in twisted or waving spirals which mean nothing unless you were there at the places where lives touched then flew wide to balloon like storms or the perfectly unsettling glory of just after sunset