The stolid men
the doting fathers
the still-needy lovers;
those with bravado
Chutzpah, diffidence
and true courage–
aristocrats and the recovered
former high school principals
men of insurance
street sellers and fixers
of the psyche
who need a good counseling…
the solid and the
Not-so-sure–
None are immune
to hunger and long lines
at early coffee hour
when the urge for caffeine
for simple acceptance
and for laughter
holds sway–and all
are made equal
in their search for
an empty chair and a place
at the table by the street
where the town
holds court–and says
hello to itself
before the world is open
for business.

I know the name;
short and sweet–
vowels contained
and written in a sky
of birds that
fly away;
cannot stay…
A name you whisper
and it sounds
like laughter, except
that she broke
your heart…”Barbara,
Susan, Jennifer” Not one
of those–but close–
Like a lake in summer
with light reflected
but then, there are clouds
and sudden rain to ruin
the moment…”Karen,
Maggie, Judith” A deer
looks up started
on a hill because
you threw a rock
to scatter the old
memories–you cannot
say her name again–don’t;
“Renee, Ellen…Holly”
So close…almost.

Dressed all in black
with a smile–
Achmed, the coffee guy
on his break
sitting outside
not bothered by
the horns or
the military meter maids
and men on patrol
and furiously scribbling–
or homeless digging
through the garbage cans
relentlessly
like I am, sometimes irked…
Achmed’s from another land
of less opportunity
Iraq or Iran, I think–
he got a decent job
and people like him;
look forward to his
good coffee & his smile
and the fact that Achmed
can make your day
with a sincere hello
Achmed sitting outside–
now–looking off
into space–and I’m
concerned his story
might have more to it
than meets the eye.

It’s time to
flick the switch
turn the light off;
give the light
a rest–it’s tired
of burning
all night long
illuminating everything
that doesn’t have
perspective…
Give the light
a rest–it’s only human
and needs a break
from its eternal
shining & constantly
“being on…”
So turn the light off
show some respect
let it have a nap–
some time to itself
in darkness and
in peace, without
its onerous job
of always having
to shine forth.

Your wish is
forever…for
endless days of blue
(like these, before summer)
for laughter
and for good fortune
and fine weather
but there is rain;
disappointment
and a late paper
someone takes–
there were witnesses
but does it matter?
You could ask why
there is so much wrong
in the world
but it’s rhetorical–
instead
find a lucky penny
(there are plenty)
or a wishbone
sufficiently brittle
and get to work
in the business of optimism;
it doesn’t take much
to keep wishing
to see sunlight
not shadow–and to stand
in a long line
and be grateful
you can stand
at all.

Getting over
the dawn–it
occurs and
is gone, like
a rhyme without
follow up
I am left alone
with day and
it’s somehow
not enough
in that it’s
too much…
A puzzle, but
where to start?
The wait, I guess
for next dawn.

Rushing
to catch
an airplane
but the volcano
won’t let you go;
wrestling with
a spring cough
and sore throat
noise outside
of letter delivery;
it could just be
the wind, or
that skunk who
walks alone
in the dark–
Once, I’d
surprised him
around a corner
and he stood there
numb while I
was the one
who had
to run, but now
time is frozen
in the black
of night, rushing
to get these
words out
before they
dissipate.

Not the world’s
greatest lover–humps
kids, legs and chairs
and won’t ever watch
his reflection in
a store window…
sleeps in a basket
of tossed willow branches
more like a nest–
barks at morning coffee
on the periphery
with a wild look
in his canine eye
and won’t be consoled;
only silent between bites
which people give him
and shouldn’t…
Won’t be seen
at games or lectures
or meetings designed
to further art or culture–
not interested in those
only the frantic behavior
of seagulls in their flock
and crows…or
the errant squirrel
that crosses over
the busy street on
a telephone wire like
a Wallenda on a tightrope
You will give in–I assure you
if he smiles with his
foamy, manipulative look
and nothing he does
whether on all fours
or on two, is written
in any book…
They call him “Leo”
but he answers to “Hey!
“Shut up!” and “Pipe Down!” too–
The implacable beast
I love to hate, especially
when he’s off leash
and after my food.

Don’t hold out–
Revelation
isn’t coming;
epiphany doesn’t exist
except for those red leaves
in the corridor
and on the stairs;
simple pleasures
like Hope itself
which you pick up
and give to friends…
Now, in the new century
there are two lives–
the one you want
and the one you live;
Saturday to Saturday
waiting for weekends
rewards and gifts
buying a friend
a tank of gas, because
“what you share
comes back tenfold…”
Though, they’ll ask
why you always mention
the red leaves in the yard
like an obsession–
and if so, tell them
obsession is the new
Revelation.

A dearth of moon
in the pale sky;
only blue and nothing
to hang objects upon–
go ahead and wish
it were different;
the seagulls laughing
their agonized cries
chased by a hawk;
Nature’s revenge against all
and it is not laughter–
Freedom but a benchmark
on the hour
the way it was when
the light went green (after
such a long wait–decades!)
and you came to
a sudden stop–
the people watching
from the curb
who looked familiar
but weren’t–and
after all…
there are choices
every day that make
a difference in the world;
whether to breathe easy
in spite of it all
or continue
being worried.