Often neglected,
you are left
with nothing
to do
while your twin
works alone.
You watch
you wait
your fingers
fidget
until extended
a turn.
Yet,
when I grant
any freedom
to step up
you surrender
to the struggle
too soon.
I accept blame
It’s my fault
I didn’t rouse
your right
to spur a spirit
of discovery
to develop
your separate skills.
When Truth approachedMy front porchI turned downHer friendly visit I knewShe carried wearisome wordsSo I refused To listen I could ignoreThe ringingDinging doorbellBy masking with singing I could hideIn a back roomTurning out the lightsPretending not to be home But ringing became knockingPounding louder and louderUntil I the only reasonable choiceWas to open the door Truth…
We needa shot in the arma double doseof spiritto guard our heartsfrom polluted prosethat crushesempathy’s pulse
I am nostalgiaListening to top hitsOf the eighties and ninetiesDressed in forgotten fashionsOf layered plaids, pastels, and neon. I settle before my flickering screenHitting backspace, delete, escapePurging reports of the counterfeit captainWho fought invisible warsThat sunk his own ships. I hear echoes Of a once fantastic futurePermanently adriftIn a sea namedWhat Should Have Been. Note:…
Am I the romantic lead from the pages of check stand novels? No. I’ve sampled love, but never long enough
to savor it.
With Beth, he will recall when they both worked in the mall. Oh, the joy they shared as they wrapped the shoppers’ gifts. Folding and taping. They were blessed to meet and work the same hourly shifts.
Dancing in bubbles
Painting swirling streaks
Across the indigo waters
Behind the glass bay