Backwoods

I've forgotten the specifics of the acquisition
and have tried to forget the players
from so long ago
but they return
more often than I like
sometimes on cold, wet afternoons like this
lifting their heads, staring back at me
through the patterns of snow on the glass.
The patterns along which I'm now paddling a canoe.
Trying to escape this wet afternoon.
Trying to edit them out of the script.
Perhaps there'll be a fork in the river.
Like the one in the movie last night on cable
that carried Billy Bob Thornton into a hollow
filled with fried catfish
and junked cars
and Harry Dean Stanton on guitar
backing Lisa Blount in a white cotton dress
whose hollers
continue to echo.

The Awakening

A snow plow's muted scrape
draws me out
of the dark warmth
and into the icicled world
taking me back
fifty years
to a sepia'd backyard
where a blacksmith -
my grandfather -
has piled snow into an Everest
in anticipation
of my return
from the classroom
where my antics
were overseen
by a young woman in full habit
whose occasional errant strands
of thick red hair
filled my awakening dreams.

Bus Stop Merlin

frayed tails stuffed
with cans and bags
a bouquet
of paper
abracadabra

I read the news today oh boy!

The faint glow from the night light
with the silence fast falling is soothing.
It’s probably a good time
to take advantage of the moment.
Here we are
waiting for the test results
without backup tapes
or scripts
buying mouthwash
like it’s going out of style
standing in the express line
clutching our 10 items.
I really wanted more, you know.

Oh what a dream I had!

I played an elf
in a play
in first grade.
I had two lines
but I can remember
only one
though I remember
my mother
rehearsing both lines
with me.
She bought fabric
and sewed the costume
which was green
and shiny;
the toes of the elf slippers
were stuffed with cotton
to give them that elf look.

Matinee

I stood on the sidewalk in overshoes with intricate clasps
and marveled at the huge orange road graders
marshaled into service during that winter of nincompoops.
Gunsmoke filled the air - an opening scene
replayed again and again
by tens of thousands of Fanner 50s -
as he launched into yet another mealtime crusade
threatening to bring down the house.
The shoot-‘em-up was sandwiched between
Felix the Cat and the Tons of Fun.
My grandmother had given me the money
from a glass jar on the dresser in her bedroom.
I dumped it onto the ice and counted out the coins
down to the last Lincoln penny
as he watched from behind his unfiltered Philip Morris.

The Ton of Fun

Deep Discounts

I’m a bit confused by all the attention
they’ve been getting lately.
Don’t they know there are boxes for that?
They must be aware of the repercussions
bouncing around the breezeway
at all hours. And what’s with the word salad?
That director is wishy-washy.
I’ll bet he’s rewriting it as a ruse!
Let’s deep-six our plans while there’s still sunlight
and sign up for the packaged tour.
Who knows? It could turn out
to be the Everest of our trip -
a trip that wouldn’t have come off
may I remind you
had you not cut out the coupons
with painstaking precision.

From the Window

Kaleidoscopic assemblages gather
where during summer's dog days
farmers' markets stood.
I move stick figures with a magnetized wand
and manage to while away several hours.

Strunk and White

The elements of style continue to elude me
but it's no big deal.
There are other options
(or so I've convinced myself).
Chinese menus for instance
offer two columns
which mimic, in some ways,
heck, in most ways,
your typical American split-level.