Friday, January 20, 2017


Friday, January 13, 2017

Perhaps we’ll stroll
our peaceful park
for all or part
of a late morning—

to the ballfields
or around the pond
where people paddle
(possibly lovers),

and bring a book—
or perhaps not.
Perhaps we’ll nosh
brunch in some Nook.

• • •

Fairies (2006)

Monday, January 9, 2017

My daughter says, “Daddy,
is there such a thing
as answering machines?”
“Yes, darling,” I say.
“If I had one,” she says,
“I would ask it if there’s
such a thing as fairies.”

• • •

Confessions of a True Bohemian

Thursday, January 5, 2017

I could look at coffee
and sip art and walk
around jazz shows

and listen to city
streets for hours and
never get tired of it

and that’s not because
I’m special or was
born in privilege but

because I am the most
boring person I know
having been raised

by dullards and having
worked at Dillards
for the better part

of my adult life and
by better I mean not
superior but larger

• • •

Life of Pepys

Wednesday, January 4, 2017


I’m Sorry

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

I’m sorry that my skill has faded,
that I’ve left wood unchopped
and the fireplace in poor maintenance.

I’m sorry that you feel neglected
and that your frock is pilling
and your puns no longer make sense.

I’m sorry we stopped attending
the Russian Orthodox Church
on the other side of Mount Willing.

It wasn’t too bad of a drive, come
to think of it. I’m less sorry
that you can no longer wink

at strange men without getting
so much mascara on your cheek
that you look like an ink

salesman who’s been crying, Marjorie,
and please don’t blame Maybelline.
I’m also sorry I got Ween tickets

when what you wanted to see
was Weezer. That, and that I traded
our freezer for a 2002 Lancer.


Story Partly Told

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

About a year and a half ago
some of the elves in my neighborhood
pioneered what they referred to as
“radical mischief.” What this means
(or rather what it meant, for
they are all but one dead now) is

• • •

Pilgrim Soul

Monday, January 2, 2017

No More Facebook

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

No more Facebook, no more Twitter.
No more sound bites, no more video clips,
no more news, headlines, no more hot takes,
no more spin, no talk, no more info debris,
no more social media funhouse mirror
making little things big for a while and then
dropping them out of view, no more no more
detritus, social gab, rumors, news pegs,
no more stories, pieces, essays, no more clicks,
no links, no more browsing, no scanning,
no more eyeballs, views, no traffic,
no more information, no more, this is not
the way to cultivate the mundane day
this forming of a consciousness at one level,
one narrow frequency of what some editors
somewhere and internet people somewhere
think is important, No more of that:

I will cultivate the mundane day
by hugging my friends, writing a poem,
by walking my dog across crunchy leaves
by sitting on my front porch watching
cars go by, no more of the frenetic
jabber the ticker tape the news, the news,
no more “Did you hear who died today?”
No more “Did you hear a bomb went
off, and do you know what it portends?”
No more stocks and politics and words
Nothing on fleek or on sale, nothing
terribly amazeballs or shopping or email
No more slideshows no more pics
no earbuds no Venmo, no digital uploads,
no Netflix, no Hulu, no scrolling, no,
No trending memes, no hashtags,
No more, nothing, please nothing,

I will cultivate by sitting alone;
We will sit around our kitchen table
and play board games, maybe, and discuss
our lives like civilized 1990 humans
We will enjoy one another sincerely, really,
in real life, as we once did, face to face.

• • •

I Guess

Saturday, December 24, 2016

The beer in my growler is rancid,
The trees outside are bare;
For a moment I thought I heard Prancer,
But there are no reindeer this year.

So I shall watch black and white movies
And sip cocoa with marshmallows
And peripatate among moonbeams 
With various and sundry fellows.

• • •