Something So Perfect

He's too young to remember
that yellow and red box in the cupboard
-that foil bag never folded over
-that dark opening, the shape of a dried leaf

she reached for it on summer nights
when the whiffle ball or the badminton birdy
         lost its glow
when the green beans were turned off with a click
and the fried chicken laid resting
        on a brown paper bag.

with such sentiment do I see back
with clear and muddled head
that dented wire mesh strainer
and the amber liquid carrying crushed
          leaves halfway through it

and then at some point the ritual ended, 
disappeared, as keys seldom used
or titles to old cars come up missing
and nobody knows when or how
         they are lost

I remember giant 3 liter bottles of Dr Pepper
        going flat on the kitchen table
and 25 cent cans of Coca Cola 
        stacked on the washer
and now, unopened bottles of organic tea 
        expire under the counter
next to the cat food and the zip lock bags

C.L.


I am a member, he said,

of the sex with myself

in the back of a greyhound club

without pause for measure

of our response

sly, as Amy releasing a fly

from the end of her dangling arm

smiling from ear to ear

he glowed in cheeky satisfaction

as she left it spinning

on the tile floor

I Could Have Been You

I could have been you
Bregsosenar, hat maker
bourgeois milliner
chic dandy extraordinaire
French Victorian father of three
Sunday mass, absinthe tea

I could have been you
Bergonessar, communard
and mail carrier
man of letters, visionary and scribbler
you were Ozwiena's messenger
baring latest witness

I could have been you
Chez Bassorgener, friend and
corrupt companion
caught between L'evenement
and the points of seamstress shears
dulled by distant gaze, startled, "alas!"

Or you
young Brasosenger
dauber, passionate rebel
to outlive us all
bathed in your glow, we relent
our fall, your spring