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Computer Trauma
She was complaining about her fingernail Those black streaks in the corners Whenever she did her work, she went pale The click-click-click felt like a nailgun in her skin She’d given up on manicures Had to make a livin’ I looked at her but wasn’t quite sure The nail was intact I tried to straighten
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Eggshells
I cracked an egg on the counter My countenance floundered She must have seen it I went to chuck the shell pieces but she said, “Leave it” I was confounded The sound of the hardboiled egg crackin’ resounded She scooped up all the fragmented shell pieces Sprinkled a few on the kitchen floor Put a
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Disappointment
It was a virtual meeting but she asked what I saw DISAPPOINTMENT was the word written across my mind’s wall I don’t know where it came from or who planted the seed Growing up, my parents provided everything a little girl could need I showed my dad my report card I ran fast in cross
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Beach Houses
Huge wooden houses stand On top of the sand Stilts are like toothpicks beneath all that wood Skeletons, like legs that have run too far There’s nothing to show for the ones that once stood Monstrous waves peak at the first floor They keep chipping away till nothing’s there anymore Yeah, the ocean can eat
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Marriage Poem
Last night I had a dream that my husband read my poems I’ve been wondering for years now if I should show him I’ve written about him and my friends Some secret things All those words and lines since childhood are my musings I could never get on a stage Or in front of a
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A Satisfied Stomach
Uuuuuurrrrr Is it the neighbor kid on his bicycle rolling over gravel? Or the other neighbor working on his car – and without a paddle? Rumble rumble rumble Is it the overstuffed washing machine? Or the man next door wheeling out the trash can of green? Maybe it’s thunder Or the car going by My
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The Graveyard
The whole world is in captivity Is God looking at us with antipathy? It’s a hurricane down here The grave has arms No one can escape it, no matter their wit, money, or charm I run past the cemetery on Sunday mornings I prefer that over sitting in a pew Both the living and the
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Disappearing Neighbors
All my neighbors are disappearing The blonde lady around the corner, the one who used to always smoke And the one next door, the door with the Wiccan symbol on it He was always so kind Always told jokes I remember one time he helped shovel out an old lady’s car that got stuck in
writings on life
gremlin fodder 