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AN AFTERNOON STROLL
There are three of themand they walk slowly along the sideof the road, proud yes, but are theyold men who see no need to hurry,or self-assumed royalty who dare not. Nor is it clear if they are the samegroup who gathered outsidethe ornate gateway into PGA Villagetwo weeks ago, perhaps tired ofthe endless greens fees…
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FOR NOW
Tomorrow this poem willmost assuredly no longer be here,though when during the nightit will slip away, never againto be seen, I don’t know or perhaps itwill return in a form I would not recognize,recrafted by the hand of an unseen editor. It may take on a meaning unfamiliar,or translate itself into a tonguethat I can…
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ETD
As a child, I could neverunderstand why, when I knewthat it ws time to go, my parentswere never ready, always neededone or two more things; and whyen route, we were never quite thereeven though I had waited the tenminutes more they said it would take. But I had nothing on my beloveddog Mindy, who would…
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WINTER MEMORY
As a child I know the wintersmust have been milder, as itwas never too cold to have my parentstake is to Sheridan Park wheremy father would drag the oldwooden toboggan up the chuteadjacent to the stairs as we ran ahead,and smile as we hurtled downseeing how far we could goacross the snow packed runway. After…
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FORKED TONGUE
I can’t tell you how longit’s been since I’ve seena snake around here, mostlybecause my sense of timehas limits of a decade. I read that they are plentifulin the Everglades, huntedas an invasive species, whichprobably stands to reasonsince our hatred is by now of Biblical proportions, and wehave learned to love goats,so, it is the…
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FELIS CATUS
She says just think of it,when the cat is twentyyou’ll be 87 and I’ll be 92. I never thought of itquite that way, of the catbeing twenty, I mean. My cats all diedin their teens, and thoughI missed them terribly, I assumed it wasjust their time, just howlong they should live. I’ve now thought of…
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HAIKU
I picked up a bookoff the shelf this morningone hundred haiku it was like sitting downa word starved man, tiredof searching for an alwaysdenied sustenance, and herelaid out before me, a repastof the sweetest grapes,bits of sugar caressinga tongue grown usedto the often bitternessof ill-considered prose. As midday approachedI knew that this was a mealto…
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SATURDAY, OF COURSE
On a quiet Sunday morning, my cappuccinoin equal measures gone and cooling, Ipaused to consider the mug on the tableadjacent to mine, alone, uncared about. It stared back at me, from its perchon the coaster pedestal on which ithad been placed so carefully, a bevyof faces holding my eye trying to tell me what? It…
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STRANGE NIGHT
It was a most unusual nightin the city, and a surprising numberof its residents took note of thatwhich in itself was unusual. By 2:00 A.M., those awake andthose who had awakenedstrained to hear it, but therewas nothing at all, no sounds to which they had becomeso accustomed, and some imaginedthey had been transportedfrom the city…
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AROMA
What I want, no, need actually,is to remember the smells of youth.The images I can recall, but they areaged pictures, run repeatedly throughthe Photoshop of memory, andcannot be trusted only desired. The old, half ready to fall oak,in the Salt Lake City park hada faint pungency that lingeredeven as I departed my body asthe acid…
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an old writer and his words 