Thursday, July 6, 2017

Three Poems

            Girl

We are sitting at our booth
in the nook. I’m on the phone
with Andy. I laugh at something
and you crack a joke I don’t hear
or understand – I’m not sure which.
You think it’s plenty funny – or
maybe it’s the confused look
on my face – but whatever it is
collapses you, your head cradled,
shaking in your arms on the table,
laugh-noises rising from you
to me. And probably to Andy.
Your chestnut hair shimmers over
your pale arms, mirroring your mirth.

You have these girl-moments – singing
those silly kid songs to the grandkids
or to me, or breaking into a skip
on our walks along Henry Street, or
telling a joke that sounds like your dad.

Even though you have moved into
Medicare, and I’m following close behind,
and our backs hurt, etc., etc., etc.,
and though you love being Grandma Kim
and Grandma Pooh, the girl still giggles
within you, rising to bless the world
like your hair we all want to touch
and the spirit we all love to love.




            Baggy Pants

Gimme them    baggy pants
hangin loose all over mlegs
Yeah them    baggy pants
they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

with room in mpockets
for mhans an mkeys
an ahm there hidin inside
no they cant see me hidin
jus mpants baggy pants
cut saggy an flappy an wide

Gimme them    baggy pants
hangin loose all over mlegs
Yeah them    baggy pants
they smooth    theys mfavorite rags

Yo tight pants is nice
fo doin yo-yo moves
letm see whatcha got when ydance
but fo me makem loose
set me free jus to be
in mblow-ina-breeze baggy pants

Gimme them    baggy pants
hangin loose all over mlegs
Yeah them    baggy pants
they smooth    theys mfavorite rags



Chasing Butterflies

My wife is into butterflies.
Saturdays when I visit Starbucks
and the barista asks, “How’s Kim?”

I answer, “Oh, she’s out
chasing butterflies with a friend.”
She brings home cocoons

and chrysalises attached to twigs -
dried pods, wrinkled pouches,
each with an exotic name.

She hangs some out on our porch
waiting for transformation.
Kim tells me that soon

after they emerge,
pheromones will draw
eager mates to the screens.

When Kim comes home she shows
me her treasures,
downloads her photos,

then after a quick dinner
she heads for the bathtub,
sheds her jeans and turtleneck

and firmly closes the door
to wash off mud and DEET,
check for ticks and chiggers,

and soak her tired muscles.
She emerges pink and new,
often with a touch of perfume.

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