All posts in "Max"

Perfect Weather

Published May 5, 2018 in Max - 0 Comments

Perfect Weather

It was.

Not too hot during the day,

and still cool at night time.

Which is the right time,

for those of you keeping track.

Max found the note in a tupperware container

that the neighbor had left out for the feral cats.

Who wrote it?

It was crumpled like it had been thrown out.

It looked like her handwriting, he thought.

Then he realized how silly that was.

If that was her intention,

she wouldn’t leave it on a crumpled piece of newsprint.

Would she?

Forget Me Not

Published April 14, 2018 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

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.

Note to Self

Published April 6, 2018 in Max - 0 Comments

Note to Self2

“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.

Code Talk

Published March 26, 2018 in Max - 0 Comments

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.

Straight Butter

Published November 27, 2017 in LA Stories , Max - 0 Comments

Straight Butter

She had engraved the knife 

As a one off trial

To see how it played.

The irony was lost on her.

She’d left it behind.

Now that she was gone

And Max had the house to himself.

He could leave the dishes

And slather “happiness” 

All over his bread.

Possibility is best served toasted,

Actually.

Chips and Bitters

Published November 24, 2017 in I Don't Even Know , LA Stories , Max - 0 Comments

Chips and Bitters

I liken you to a janitor

The way you mopped

The floor with me.

Closed the door on me,

All the while

Saying you adored on me.

And I liken you to a cold syringe 

The way you needled me

Injected me

Infected me with a virus

That protected me

Until you rejected me

All the while

Peeking through 

The peephole 

Smiling on the other side

Of the door.

The Principle

Published October 21, 2017 in Max , Ophelia - 0 Comments

The Principle

Ophelia was frantically packing all the things

that she could justify as being hers.

Which was basically everything.

After 15 years of marriage,

Max was left with the toaster

and 4 plates.

In her haste she threw away

on unopened bottle of dipping oil.

What you might have on fresh bread.

Max took it out of the trash,

why let it go to waste?

She saw he had saved it

and threw it back in the garbage.

Rather it wind up in landfill

than with him.

At the Museum

Published July 18, 2017 in Max - 0 Comments

At the Museum

“Parking validation is for three hours.
Personal validation is also available upon request.”

It was a joke, obviously, the receptionist had made before.

Max took the parking ticket.

He was thinking of a similar joke, but not for him.

There was a more attractive
young woman
he was hoping for.

Fortunately, her shift had ended.

Fear of Falling

Published July 15, 2017 in LA Stories , Max - 0 Comments

Fear of Falling

Max knew.

It was over, but how to extricate himself?

He held on tooth and nail because he loved her.

But also, because he was afraid.

She was his bridge from fringe dweller,

sleeping on the floor,

to man,

living in a house, sleeping on a California king,

driving a car he wasn’t ashamed of.

On Maple Street

Published June 21, 2017 in Max - 0 Comments

On Maple Street

It was the summer of the lonely cicada.

Silly insect miscalculated and came out too soon.

Instead of the deafening chorus with all his brothers,

it was him alone.

Singing for a female who was sound asleep.

Max felt the exact same way,

born in the wrong epoch.

Longing for times of Tommy gun simplicity.