Undo Your Safety Belt

It won’t be a bumpy ride.

We got this.

“Get the commissioner on the phone.

Put him on with me when you have him.”

“Hello, Commissioner? Yeah, listen,

I was asked to give you a call, but not give you a call.

So that you would never be put in a predicament

where somebody said that you were called.”

“Who is this?”

“Doesn’t matter who it is. What matters is that

you were given a call, but not given a call.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Commissioner.”

Click.

He looked at his phone, incredulous.

Forget Me Not

Picked this rose in remembrance of you.

And the sage flowers with a splash of blue.

For the sad I feel thinking of you.

I know it’s over, but I can’t stop wanting to be true.

To you.

I just can’t undo the years of holding and having your back.

And I can’t bear the thought of some him with you.

What’s clear is my lack of emotional maturity.

I’m a teenager again,

reverted back to a pot smoking adolescent.

Hanging on your every word and action.

Embarrassing but true.

To you.

Global Swarming

Spring, but it was hot.
Like mid-July heat.
The two dogs wanted inside.
Tommy, the Jack Russell,
was clever enough
to open the screen door himself.
He chose, instead,
to ooze desperation and
the threat of heat stroke.
In the cage was the insect,
a little Pom mix that’s
a tad bit inbred.
Basically, a canine gnat.
Constant jumping, biting
and errrrrrring.
Jack was reluctant
to let either of them in.
“It’ll be cool any minute,
the sun’s going down.
And they’ve got water.”
he reasoned to himself.
“You can’t give in and spoil them,
they’ll walk all over you if you do.”

High Voltage

For all her chic thinness
and occasional ice princess mean,
she has an almost
gluten and dairy free
banana pancake air of health.

And just like breakfast,
she makes the rest of your day.
Joy or pure pain,
depending on whether you have
the memory of her or
the thrill of being near.

She could be more beautiful
if she only applied herself.
You know, did her hair a bit more
or put on some lipstick or rouge.

That being said she’s still probably the
single most exceptionally
beautiful woman in the world.

Note to Self

“I scratched my hand picking roses for you.”

Max wrote.

It was a lie. The cat had done it.

It was also code for,

“I hurt myself trying to get over you.”

Which really felt drama queen pathetic.

It was self-inflicted,

still, he knew he was just playing a role.

And it was a mediocre performance

because he was aware that his script

lacked for something.

Suddenly it came to him,

two turntables and a microphone, that was the answer.

Meta Jane

Bill collector,

chiropractor,

prophylactic

anaphylactic.

She shocked me.

Introspective,

retrospective.

Self-reflective

Man collective.

She shocked me.

When she changed her name

to

Meta Jane.

“If you vibe with Meta, call me Meta.”

“If you vibe with Jane, call me Jane.” said Meta Jane.

“If you vibe with Meta Jane, then call me for dinner.

I’ll be there with bells on.”

Code Talk

Max was half asleep on the couch,

watching a rerun of the Dick Cavett Show.

A fat Orson Wells was the guest

musing about being visited by “the black dog”

Churchill’s euphemism for depression.

“Hmpf” he snorted at the tv, “What does he know?”

Petting his little black companion,

inbred and manic.

He reached down and took the rock

that it was chewing from it’s mouth.

“Not the brightest in the litter, were you?”

The pooch licked his face

and dug his head into his armpit.

Fret Me See

My wife gave me a one way Greyhound ticket to Vegas.

She threw in $37.58 in loose change.

Told me she wanted me out of her life.

I didn’t believe it though.

Deep down, I think she just wanted to set me free.

Let me out of the ball and chain thing that

I have never been good at.

I’m grateful and there’s a whole country

of freight trains with my name on them.

Or they will once I tag them

with my nom de plum: Tuck.

They called me that cause I’m good at hiding.

I’m not bad at lying either.

Feening the Almighty

Had the DTs in Cheyenne.

Jumped an empty boxcar north.

Hid under abridge pillar next to the Air Force base.

Sat my backpack down in the corner.

My vodka fell out when I made the jump.

Once I made Greybull I was in terrible shape.

2 men tried to kill me and take my gear.

Only they weren’t real.

The rail yard police pinched me for trespassing

and I told them I was attacked.

They asked me how much I’d been drinking.

Wound up in a local hospital

where I got a valium injection and

and a shot of Haldal in my left ass cheek.

Never had it that bad before.

The Mouths of Babes

Crisp Saturday morning,

grass still wet with dew.

Red cardinal stopped to survey the scene.

Mickey threw the ball

to little three year old Jacob.

Catching it the boy asked

“Daddy, do you believe in God?”

Taken aback slightly,

“Yes, I do.”

Then, in kind.

“Do you?”

“God brought me to you”, the boy said, matter of fact.

Mickey dropped the ball,

felt a rush of emotion

that he didn’t want the boy to see.