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NIL, ZERO, NADA, NYET
This morning absolutely nothing happened. The newswires were silent, or repeated old stories. The sports wires had nothing of note to say, save repeating yesterday’s scores. Even the gossip news was absent, as though a Saturday night passed without embarrassment. I did not mind the quiet, the almost silence, able to listen to the Mockingbird’s…
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ASKED AND ANSWERED
Only the ducks remain, and they aren’t saying. Ask a Muscovy where all the ibis have gone and he will say, “good riddance, they’re ugly and get in the way.” Ask of the pelicans and they will remind you that now there are more fish, and they’ll be back eventually, but things are much calmer…
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GET A ROOM
In the park the ginkgoes, male and female, separated by the path, are putting on their leaves. Soon the squirrels, eternal voyeurs, will gather on their branches to watch them mating.
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PHYSICS
She is seven, going on some much larger number. She believes in the tooth fairy. She believes in the scientific method. She believes in vegetarianism and ecology. She believes in helping her parents and was doing so when she found her baby teeth in a small bag in their dresser. She no longer believes in…
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FOR THE BIRDS
It is incredibly frustrating that no matter how long I spend in discussion with the egret, he will tell me nothing of his life, of what it is like to be able to perch on long legs, and then take glorious flight. The limpkin will speak endlessly on this topic, but he really has nothing…
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OH, NOAH
It has rained for uncounted days on end and we half expect one of our neighbors to begin building an ark, so we look through the falling drops for pets to line up in double file ranks, seeking selection for a journey they know must be coming. Overhead, the dove sits in the maple knowing…
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In any half respectable pub in Galway, and in Ireland the county of place hardly matters, when enough pints have been passed, and night grows thick, even such as I, claiming to be part Irish, claiming two left feet, can feel the ceili deep within, and step out on the floor to do what I…
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MY REFUGE
This poem appeared in the March, 2019 edition of Bluestem Magazine. You can find this and other great writing here: http://bluestemmagazine.com/ For many years, L was my refuge, when I grew tired of being the butt of an endless stream of fatty jokes. I could find some solace in H or F, but L was…
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STORM FRONT
I arrive home to the wreckage of the tornado that is a three-year-old. Picking up the pieces scattered about we both think of how soon the next storm will arrive and how we will welcome its coming.
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GLASS HOUSES
You want to yell at him, tell him to stop, that it is too soon, that he is not ready, cannot be, won’t be for months to come, but you know he will not listen to you standing, gesticulating, imagining a stone in your hand, shattering the glass walls, the crackling gaining his full attention…
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an old writer and his words 