talking to strangers

His ears were red but his eyes were desperate,

a simple question asked with monumental effort:

"Does this train stop at McDowell?"

Yes it does.  Tense shoulders never relaxing,

embarrassment keen.  We never have all the answers.

He had a grizzled smirk that was ten feet wide.

Sunshine brings out spaghetti-strap tanks 

and makes shy men brave. 

"Well, well, that's what I'm talkin' about!"

Hope I made his day.

She had a wispy mustache and a lost little smile.

She carried three bags filled with things, a lifetime of uncertainties.

Stopped me at the crosswalk:

"What do you think of the market?  Do their vegetables taste good?"

We talked as the light changed once, then twice.

He perched on the stoop of a vacant office building,

noticing what I hadn't, as I braked for the light.

"Your bike tire's flat... gonna make it?"

No air pump, but genuine concern.

He stormed through the park, and saw 

the girl on the bench, with iPod headphones and a book.

Her friendly but wary smile ripped the frustration loose.

"Get the fuck out of my face, you stupid-ass bitch."

He is a realist.  A stranger's smile, no matter how polite,

won't improve his lot.

scene from a Phoenix grocery store parking lot

the wind rose like bread 

i paused to savor the smell

dust blew in my eye

sonuvabitch

the thing about the wind is
you can't see it           bend it               break it
                      mix it               separate it

you can't catch it and set it before you
                          trick it
                       trap it
                   you could negotiate

the presence of it
      gauge
   the speed
      at which
   it grips

a sock strapped to a flagpole

measuring wind
                  physical only
        in what it can animate

gluttonous
            wind, wanting to hold
                            all it touches.

Ignoramus

Hateful words

erupting putrid, ignorant, deadly

from uneducated mouths, choked by

residue left from another time:

When men and women and

children

were beaten bloody

for drinking from a forbidden fountain,

for a different view.

Words that soil minds, poison

truth.  What is the value of "truth"

when it's claimed by complacent white men?

Fearful words that reek

of disillusionment, dissatisfaction,

insecure lies.

Can it be that I am of this blood?

Words

spoken by my father's brother--

I will never claim them,

but am I stained?

Words

that tear my insides

beyond recognition,

beyond belief:

"They come here,"

he says,

"And think they can change everything."

(But I hear truth in change.

Growth.

Survival--why can't he see?)

Fear festers in his words:

"They should get the hell out, go back."

To where? 

To war?  Death?

To places where ten-year-olds

carry weapons, where girls

gather firewood while men wait in ambush,

where brothers kill 

their own brothers?  Uncle--

you can't even begin to imagine the 

real truth.  Can't you see?

We are their brothers and sisters.  We.

What would you do

if it was you who had to leave

everything you knew,

if your entire world 

fell to pieces

and you were forced

to start again

alone

in a place where no one

knew your name

or spoke your language

or understood

or cared?

What would you be forced to become?

What would you 

be forced to give away?  

Uncle--

fear and hate kill, maim, blind,

rape and pillage,

beat truth bloody

but LOVE--

Love heals... love allows for choice.

And I choose to be unafraid.

I choose to fight for change, I choose

equality.  I choose to protect the rights of those

who have not yet been allowed to learn how,

in this place they now call "home."

I choose to educate.  I choose to

be educated.

I choose to love.

I choose to expand my horizons.  I choose

to aid, and

I choose to respect the voice

of a Somali family

over the hateful voice within my own.

See, uncle?

I choose.

And I will never choose

to be like you.

Ode to a Fart

This is an ode to the "sweetest" of deeds,

A bodily function so awesome, it needs

A tremendous tribute, which I will here impart:

That glorious, uproarious thing called a fart.

Too many times, I'd be sitting in class

When, wouldn't you know it, a big ball of gas

Would come rumbling out from the depths of my tummy.

All but the teacher would think it was funny.

The mind-blowing names for this feat, so diverse,

Nearly rob me of skill to do justice in verse:

Air biscuit, breezer, beef, and one-cheek-sneak;

Room-clearer, honker, trouser trumpet, and squeak;

Ass-rumbler, cheek-flapper, letting it rip;

Pant-ripper, poot, toot, butt mutt, and air tulip.

Heiny burp, back draft, and buttock bassoon;

Bottom blast, rip ass, and a little boom-boom;

Dutch oven, funky roller, and Smelly McSniffed;

Rumble-fluff, wet one, butt pancake, and 'pfffffft.'

And just when you thought all the names were too small:

'I stepped on a fart snake.'  It just says it all.

But the Grand Prize of Fart Names, it goes to my mom,

Who'd redden with shyness when she'd drop a bomb

Of wet stinky inky, and--no, I'm not goofing--

She'd blush, and then giggle and say, "Oops, I'm FLOOFING."

And thus, I say, no matter which way you spin it,

The world is the richer with flatulence in it.

So the next time you feel one a-brewin', take pride,

Stand with feet firmly planted, and cheeks open wide.

Windy Dreams

The wind was blowing
My car had been towed
Or stolen
Whatever
It was missing

In my dream I was eating alone
In a Mexican restaurant
The waitress asked me what I wanted
When I asked for plain enchiladas
She said they had tomato and cheese

I said "OK"
She brought these little sliced zucchini
Warm and cooked
With melted cheese
It wasn’t until after eating them all, that I discovered the tortilla

Just like that
It blew in and blew out
Leaving behind
Traces

Just traces
Of life
Space
Dust
And tap shoes

They were the kind
That were shiny
with the pink ribbons
Every girl's second grade dream
Clinking down the hall

To dance class
With hopes that
She would be noticed
Complimented
On style and form

Where they came from can only be guessed at
They wanted to belong
To that one
The one with the blonde pigtails
And slightly awkward gait

Pick me
And just like that
They, and she
Vanished

With the wind

Passing Wind

...starting a community poem, feel free to add on...like the game of telephone, come on...you know you want to! All the cool kids are doing it...(Maybe I have been working with kids WAAAAY too long...)


You knew it was coming.
How could you not?
With a theme like that,
What else would be hot?

Passing wind, farting, whatever you call it
Will always be friendly
Hilarious and comical
No matter how many times you do it

it might have been...

remember that day?

your eyes were 

red it might 

have been 

salt spray 

it might 

have been

the wind  

I might 

have believed

that

ocean

so far away

but so damn close

a lifetime 

to get there

a leap

a moment to

leave

 

we could have jumped right then

I met you

on a bus

I wanted 

to leave

my scars behind

you wanted

to follow

you said

you'd follow me

anywhere

we made plans

west

cliffs

ocean

sunshine

freedom

glory

death?

a story

they would 

remember us

welcome to the end

you said

you'd follow me

anywhere...

anywhere

your eyes were 

wet it might

have been 

the wind it might

have been

love

remember that day?

we stood

my hand in 

yours in 

mine

we stood

oh

we stood forever

we could have 

jumped

we could have jumped right then

we could have...

we didn't

welcome to the beginning

Today Is For Burying Teeth

Today is for burying teeth

One
Outside my childhood library
First kiss
Seventh grade
Skidding nerves
Thirteen years
Her hair
Beautiful blonde
Eyes green
Like freshly cut grass
Her mother
Waiting
The moon
Stage light
Set on us
Tooth buried
Next to the front door

Two
Thanksgiving night
2003
Painful transition
From
World-class flake
To
Other-world dreamer
Her
Driving mom’s SUV
Me
Crawling on my knees
She
Skips on pins and needles
Resembling
A wrecking ball
I am ruined
My tooth
Buried next to the parking lot

Three
Twenty years waiting
Seemed liked forty
You
Perfect piece
We
Fit together
Before
Worry
After
Relief
We never did
Wash his sheets
This one
Buried under the window

Four
Can still feel
Crisp breeze
Yawning sun
You
Gaze at stars
I
Spout philosophy
We
Never had a chance
I’m ok with that
Hope you are too
Perhaps
Best night of my life
Strangers held hands
Acquaintances kissed
Fools
Building futures
With no roots
The final tooth
Secreted in rocks
Hoping
To be carried to the sea
Praying
To be forgotten

I covered them
With the dirt
You gave me
Composed of
Miracles
And
Wishes
May my teeth
Be comforted
By that blanket
May my empty sockets
Now be home
To something new

Today
Is for burying teeth

all the boys of myth (a love poem)

yesterday i spun a tale
cynical about love
clutching each thin strand
saying i'd never lead you out again

that was a lie

time still slows
at the command of your smile

sometimes i dream running
a pace set to a song
you are strumming across
the strings of my soul
an old song made new
in a rush of blood
from my shuddering heart

it breaks free from encircling bark

just let my warm hand
brush across your rough stony cheek
and make it flesh again

fingers graze across lips
brow rests on brow
grey blue lost in blue

boy
drop your bow
and kiss me

no one
(not even you)
craves solitude.

Little Bobby

With the success of his Sicilian defense

Trickling down to a late fourth quarter lead

Bobby the Brat turns on the full-court press

While Shy Sam can only muster a whimper

And yet

Sam swallows the lump in his throat

Wipes the sweat from his brow

His shaking hand moves his own queen

To destabilize Bobby the Bastard’s foundation

The audacity

Puts Bobby the Bellicose on edge

Foaming like a feral beast

Anger steams from his head

Veins throb over forehead and through eyeballs

Bobby the Bold bobs his rook into place

To attack Sam’s king

However

The usual cold, calculating child

Has left his flank wide open

Sam senses the shift

Can taste the temporary opportunity

With nimble digits he dismantles Bobby the Brash’s rook

Rancor emerges from the other side of the table

The crowd

Once dispersed and horrified but still watching

Like they could see the oncoming slaughter

But now

Sacrosanct Sally circles around

Recalling how Bobby the Blasphemer mocked Christ

In reading class last week

She is silently praying for retribution from her savior

And Tater Tot Todd

Cannot help but let loose a tentative yip!

Recollecting stolen lunch money on tater tot Thursdays

In fact, the crowd has silently developed a life of its own

Even parents cross fingers

Hoping for the dethroning of Bobby the Bully

And sure enough

After the mustering of his pawns

And the skilled control of his queen

Shy Sam is able to trap Bobby the Belligerent’s king

And claim a comeback kid victory

Infused with the enthusiasm from the crowd

Sam is swept off his feet

They chant

Sam!

Sam!

Wham!

Bam!

Thank you Sam!

What a nice ending to the story huh?

Sam forever is enshrined as the one

Who took down Bobby the Booger

We all lived vicariously through his young heart

His sweaty hands

And what of Bobby?

Bobby will grow up to be a mass murderer

A loner who picks people out from crowds

Because they look like Shy Sam

Like Sacrosanct Sally and Tater Tot Todd

Because they look like you and me

So

Still happy Sam won?