Category Archives: Uncategorized

Mrs. Ailey (Written October 7)

Mrs. Ailey


Writing in large letters on the blackboard,

The teacher spelled out what she wanted

To be called. Mrs. Ailey with an e and a y


If you please. Any questions, she asked,

And twenty-two hands, all female, shot up. Why

Do they call it pregnant, when all it looks


Like is she’s fat? It means she’ll soon

Have a baby. Now open your books

To page eighty. But please, missus,


Tell us how it comes out. Head first?

I’ll tell you this, it takes more than kisses.

It takes blood, sweat, and tears.


How long, Mrs. Ailey, with an e and a y,

Will you be our teacher? How many years?

As long as it takes. We don’t know


Much, because all Miss Hopkins ever talked

About is how bad she hurts. She showed

Us where too. That, my dears,


Is about to change, I assure you.

All will be revealed, have no fears.

Now let’s get on with it.

Nothing Tugged Back (Written October 6)

Nothing Tugged Back


It was so small I didn’t even feel it.

When I tugged at the line, nothing

Tugged back. The only reason I reeled


It in was so that we could move

To another spot, where the yield

Might be more abundant. It was a beautiful


Striped bass, but under the legal limit.

After some thought we did the dutiful

Thing and returned it to the water,


Alive, only slightly damaged, the mouth

In need of repair, like a daughter

Who decides she has nothing more


To say, and retreats into her own

Private world, in search of that inner core

Where she might feel she amounts to something.

Nothing Shoddy About the Girls (Written October 5)

Nothing Shoddy About the Girls


Some of them had spotty trunks,

Others had plain red, white, or black,

Still others wore pieces skimpy as jock straps.


The girls had something different in mind.

Nothing shoddy about the girls, but maps

Of the contours of their tender new bodies,


Focused on particulars of presentation

Rather than the boast of what rowdies

They could be if they wanted to be.


Wasn’t I like them when I was

Their age? Didn’t I also want to see

Myself in the mirror and believe


I was what I was, and had no need

To apologize? Even to conceive

Of such a thing was to take a step back.

Wild Horses (Written October 4)

Wild Horses


That was the horse looking at me again

Because the way I was standing was too noisy.

I turned my head so that my gaze


Fell upon the brown, watery eye.

I was not afraid. Half-crazed

I had climbed the steep hill


In search of the wild horses,

Abandoned from logging days, that still

Roam the mountainside. What was surprising


Was not the horse’s apparent tameness

But the silence of his coming over the rise,

And the way he advanced straight toward me,


As if to present himself to me, for my inspection,

And to ask, What is it you want of me?

Then five more came over the hill, like a posse.

He Looked Around the Room (Written October 3)

He Looked Around the Room


As if he were smearing on make-up

Or rubbing an itchy patch of skin,

Unable to think of anything to say,


He looked around the room,

And saw that there was no way

He could please everyone.


How long will they stand for it,

He wondered. The longer he waited

The less likely they were to listen.


One by one they began to move

Outside, onto the balcony, not hiding

Their disappointment. It would be wiser,


He concluded, to say nothing at all,

Rather than risk having the wool

Pulled over his eyes, yet again.

The Double (Written October 2)

The Double


The snow continued to fall

But the thought of turning back never

Entered his mind. At the end of the street,


And across the tracks, was a different

World, where, at long last, he would meet

His double, the one who had failed


To make something of himself,

Who had murdered and been jailed,

But clung to this last, feeble hope


For redemption. But what could he,

Who had fled the dominion of dope,

Who had made a life for himself, free


From the endless strife that had always

Plagued his double like a swarm of bees,

What could he do to set things right?

The Strain of Never Knowing (Written October 1)

The Strain of Never Knowing


Always there in that soft corner,

Quiet, alone, barely visible,

Tired of the bickering,


Waiting for night to come,

Waiting for the snickering

Voices to fall


Silent, the thump thump thump

Of the music, like a ball

Careening in the cage of the brain,


Beyond what any sane person

Should have to endure, the strain

Of never knowing what to believe,


The absence of all hope,

The desire to relieve

The pressure, fizzle out.

Whispers in Hallways (Written September 30, 2013)

Whispers in Hallways


There were whispers in hallways,

Phone calls no one wanted

Him to hear, email messages


Deleted the moment he walked

Into the room, passages

Cut from company books.


He was reluctant to leave the house,

Afraid he might invite looks

Of disapproval and scorn.


He felt safer inside,

Listening to music, watching porn,

Venturing out late at night


Into the all-but-deserted streets,

Resisting the urge to fight

The first fellow that came along.

A Special Talent (Written September 29, 2013)

A Special Talent


He had a special talent for affability.

In his youth, when his friends

Drank too much and became loud


And abusive, he remained silent,

Not to excuse them but too proud

To tell them what they


Thought they wanted to hear.

Later, when he lost his own way,

With the death of his father,


He seemed to suffer one piece

Of misfortune after another.

A brother died of dementia.


The woman he married left him.

His daughter, in absentia,

Made it clear she blamed


Him. Troubles dogged him,

But he kept his smile and the same

Ease in being with people, to the end.

A Man of No Consequence (Written September 27, 2013)

A Man of No Consequence


Where the windows look out on the night,

Where the moon drifts among clouds,

Where the owl hoots and the cat screams,


Where the sun never rises,

A man of no consequence dreams

He is late, but for what – is not clear.


A meeting that will determine

His fate. He has nothing to fear,

He tells himself, while his hands


Shake and sweat pours from his face.

As far as the eye can see, these lands

Belong to him, as it’s written


In the book for anyone who cares

To look. He’s hopelessly smitten

And will do whatever it takes.