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The Most Holistic Way

she was dressed all in leather
she was spiked from head to toe
she'd got on the bus and started to cuss
and boy did that bus driver go

her chains did more than jingle
her spurs did more than clink
she looked like an escapee from a nut - house hotel
I assume she was the head shrink

more piercings than st. sebastian
more needles than a sewing queen
she was looking for an acupuncturist
to prick about her spleen

it's the most holistic way she plead
as her spikes poked out my eyes
i hope they don't mess up my hair she said
if they do i know someone dies

TEN KINDS OF SADNESS

There are ten different kinds of sadness

They start out at a one with such things

As hang nails or paper cuts

Perhaps the bus was late or too crowded

Perhaps it was your hair

These are the fleeting sadnesses soon to be forgotten

Number two kinds of sadness involve the loss of something

But only temporarily

You can’t find the keys

You can’t find the remote

You don’t remember where you’ve sat your glasses

Number two kinds of sadness make you move

They make you worry slightly

But it almost always has a happy ending

In just a few moments all is resolved

We first encounter the third kind of sadness as children

When we have lost something of fleeting value

Ice cream falling off of summer cones

The favored baseball card lost in some child’s game of chance

Lightening bugs escaping your sweaty hand and the killing jar

The higher numbers of sadness

The sixes and sevens

Are for losses of greater magnitude

A limb lost in battle

A mind lost to war

A home lost to a nameless corporation

A loved one lost to a drunken driver

Things still held oh so very dear

Gone and forever

I would tell you of the numbers nine and ten kinds of sadness

But my soul can not bare such today

Not while the sun still shines

In truth, I am afraid

I’m afraid your hearts would break open wide

I’m afraid you would never forgive

untended lemon tree

small beautiful green nuts growing into sour teenagers

if left unmolested they will grow into fullness

nearing their peak they will mature into an ever sweating nectar

if they get to hang around long enough

they will be perfect for a favorite chicken recipe

or to have as a refinement for caviar

or to properly flavor some sophisticated cocktail du jour

towards the very end

just before the fading

deserts and custards to be shared

or a sacred digestive

if you get to hang around a long time

like the lemons on an untended lemon tree

it will be grand

simply grand

all the while

locked in our bones

is the certain knowledge
like these glorious lemons

we too

one day far too soon

shall succumb to gravity

IRISH LAD COLLECTING DONATIONS

Today it’s the American Red Cross

It could be for children of any color suffering anywhere

But the Irish lad is collecting for the American Red Cross

though you don’t want to be drawn into conversation

though you are broke

you allow him to lure you in

because you like his green eyes and his accent

You had seen eyes that color once

on a girl on the cover of a National Geographic magazine

when you were a young child sitting in a doctor’s office somewhere

“They won’t let me give blood”  He says

“It would make people talk funny”  He says

Though you know it makes no difference

you can’t help thinking some of his blood

might make your eyes green and your skin so white

You realize you are more than halfway towards becoming

the person you have long yearned to be

inside your own skin

with your ordinary eyes

and your own accent

Summer Love

“Some people swore that the house was haunted.  Can you imagine?”  She tossed the paper umbrella next to the AARP card.  “I hope they don’t forget our discount this time.”  She was scanning the pool area for a waiter.

“Um.” He murmured.

“Oh, you aren’t even listening.”  She playfully scolded.

“Am too.”

Having seen her parents old pile of bones laughingly called their summer cabin, he could in fact imagine it being haunted.

Her comment reminded him of the summer they’d met.  He was a lifeguard with a brand new Red Cross card; she was thirteen, electrifying, being trained in First Aid.  Instinctively he’d recognized something feral and dangerous.

“I’m lucky,” the camper had thought, as they’d marched in afternoon woods towards the lifeguard’s secret. 

“That’s sick!”  The kid had spat, when he’d understood the warm, intimate whispers. 

In an instantly blinding rage his hands had flown to the boy’s windpipe.  The child struggled desperately.  It wasn’t until the camper suddenly shifted his gaze and reached out for help that he’d realized they weren’t alone.  Jumping up in horror, he automatically released the boy, who lay gasping.

“I knew it!”  She’d smirked.  With a twisted little smile she’d told him not to let the kid get away.  She’d pointed to where the camper had run into the trees.

Dazed, chocking on thick ropes of guilty bile he watched as the boy vanished.

“Get him!”  She’d commanded, still pointing.  “Go!”

He caught the boy, but with discovery, her watching, and his churning guts, he hadn’t enjoyed that first time.

After, they’d walked down to the lake’s edge, where she had carefully washed him, as he’d quietly wept.

“Oh, stop.”  She’d soothed, and after a time he had.  “You’re only upset ‘cause I caught you.”

She had been absolutely right, of course, and that had made him surprisingly happy.  He felt a smile skip lightly across his face as he lay in the bright sun beside her, waiting for his next cocktail.

“I like you.”  She had cooed, that first day by the lake, in a voice he didn’t know he’d grow old loving.  Heading back to camp, as the dappled light faded, the two young gods had held hands for the first time.  Nothing was ever the same again after that.

sungsang

late night concrete parking lot floor cold
synthesized orchestra ancient thai xylophone drums warm
retro dreads classic long hair glorious young beauties
arizona gas money needed for oregon
musical paradise laidbackness
with skate borders providing dissonant backdrops

i asked the girl beside who was playing
his impromptu concerto of spiritual song
i forget - i forget she said
but in the moment it didn't matter

sungsang - it's one word the clarinetist later told me
if that's what you call an electroincial gizomized magic stick player
the pied piper could only dream about
but only on days with too much sunshine and just enough wine
and his fill of well fed laughing children