It’s gotten cold in the last week. Just two weeks ago, we were sitting out by a bonfire in the back yard, enjoying the last of the warm weather, and watching our pillar of smoke billow up into the warm air, as our neighbors sat inside, watching whatever it is they show on television these days, missing out on the final few moments of summer.

Smoke signals, take II
Nov 1, 2007

We send up a pillar of smoke,
a guide in this wilderness
of suburbia.

All around the masses watch
reality television, having not encountered reality
in years.
They drink lite beer,
missing the full bodied wine
of the real world right beyond
their back porch.

From afar, others may see
our pillar of smoke,
even as they send up their own.
From the top of this tree,
or that one,
we might see one,
two,
a dozen pillars rising
and know that
we are not alone.

Ode to a crystal pitcher
02-Nov-2007

I was saving that
for a special occasion.
And so it sat, for years, unused in a cupboard,
hidden away for a special occasion.
Through the years of nothing special
it sat, and waited,
until it exuded the nothing-specialness
that had been blamed on it for so long.

But, like Neruda’s socks,
or like his fireflies,
putting it in a jar for long enough
is sure to kill it.

And I find, nowadays,
that pizza with friends,
or a cheeseburger with my Beloved,
is plenty special enough to warrant
the use of this pitcher.

After all,
I was saving it for a special occasion.

Bedtime Stories
06-Sep-2007

Late at night,
flashlight under the covers,
Ms. Nalletamby pacing the corridor.
Lights out, boys! Don’t make me get the tackie!

Giggles, and stories.
Dreadful stories of the terrs,
coming in the night, burning the farms,
for what? We didn’t know.

Of course nobody believed them,
but they were good stories.
Lots of blood and fire, and breaking windows.
So exciting.
But he didn’t seem excited, so much as

homesick.
worried.
terrified.

What did I care? Maumau was long over,
and was probably mostly a

myth.

Just stories.

Ms. Nalletamby storms in, shouting
What do you have? Give it to me! What is it?

A letter from home.

As I sat in the Detroit airport on April 26th, I observed an older couple sitting across from me. They were hard to miss. It was obvious that, although they had been with each other for 40 or 50 years, they still enjoyed each others company. I wish, now, that I had given them what I wrote. But I had just started writing poems, and didn’t think that anybody would like to read what I wrote. But, looking back at this, I think maybe they would have appreciated it.

History
April 26, 2007
Detroit Airport

She reads
The Life Of Abraham Lincoln,
laughing with delight
at the antics of Abe
and sharing passages with him.

He reads
The Federalist Papers,
smiling happily to be with her,
his glasses
two full moons
in front of his eyes.

In love, still,
40 years on,
on their way to Europe again,
like that first time, so long ago.

The world has changed around them
but they remain
the whole world to each other.