I Would Rather Have Had an Ugly Wife

Greying, wrinkled, frayed, and undone. Daughters, long ago married off, come by occasionally to check on him, make sure he isn't dead like their beautiful mother. They find him in the exact same position in the room at the back of the house, barely large enough be a closet, as though he morphed into a gargoyle, doomed to guard the cherry blossom scented room for eternity. Those girls never speak to him. Nothing to say. In return, he won't say a word. A mutual agreement, silently made, stands to dictate these societal rules. Every eclipse or so one of the girls will ask her husband, "I wonder what he does all day, sitting in that sad little room." Neither venture any explanation, because both know, as do the crickets who try to mind their own business in the grass, what transpires when the sun waxes. The old man cries, agonized and vengeful. Often he demands "Why! Why! Why!" but nature can't expound. Pounding his fist on the cold cherry wood floor, he idolizes the fractured picture of his stunning wife and the burnt copy of confession. The old man sits in front of his divorced katana companion and cries.

Vengeful Pansy

A pansy, he called her, that iron woman,
as though she were nothing but a stem
to trample on.

A pansy he said! Pansy, indeed.
She would show him pansy
and everything that could mean.

She would cry and plead,
appeal and concede,
she would bend and break,
show him false need.
Then like a stolen Ferrari
running out of the gate,
she would leave him crawling
on his knees.

Then who would cry and plead,
who should appeal and bleed?
He would bend and break,
and end in great need.

After all was complete,
she would flick back her black hair
and proudly say,
"This little pansy just ruined your day."

Veterinarian Cannibal

Everyone wants to be something when they grow up,
and I want to be famous.
You want to be a doctor--
Smarty ate far too many Smarties when he was young.
Who the heck wants to be a wiener?

Let's face reality.
You'll be the famous one, and I'll be the vet,
battle scars run up my arms.
I have never liked dogs though, and
I never will.
So what about that you little attention seeker?

The whole world loves you--
So what?
Are you fulfilled you skinny little mutt?
You better watch out, you are due
in my operating room soon.
Yummy, fresh hearts. 

Magic Man

Make the unseen, seen; that is his job. When asked if he is a magician, the soft-spoken student says, "No, I am simply exposing what has always been, and what will always stay the same." As a mad-man each night he sits at a large piano and pounds Middle C again and again, as though listening for some change in the sound of that illustrious note. Once finally satisfied, he abuses G directly above his previous note. Banging and blamming, pushing and pressing, a genius still unknown to the world sits and works magic. Finally, the pen meets the paper, frantically scritching notes on the lines of a scale like little black ants, forced to run a marathon over a frozen tundra. Scrubbing and scribbling, squeaking and streaking, an artist composing his masterpiece; dividing himself between the physical and abstract. Behold the divine.

Laugh at the Color Grey

A checkered flag,
photographs.
A chess board and its pieces,
Truth and lie,
Fresh tarmac and side lines,
Print on paper inside of books
and on the press.
My watch face, grandma's watch,
Computer keyboards,
ravens in the snow,
Music notes on their black scaled lines,
Coffee in a clean white cup,
piano keys, flat, sharp, and resolved.
Tea, ink, racism,
life.
Here's to the absolutes.

You And I

You are air, I am earth,

You have scales, I have fur,

You are a psycopath, I am a sociopath,

You have the temper, I have the ego,

You are a murderer, I am an assassin,

You are an actor, but so am I.

You live a lie, but I lie to live.

You rage on because I have no reason,

No reason to burn.

You run from your past while 

I dream of mine every night,

Your conscience breathes

but I suffocated mine long ago.

You sear yourself for the pain you cause,

I ignore it and walk on.

I can't read your silence,

you can't understand my words.

You won't tell me what I want to hear,

I walk away, "Let go."

But finally you say "No",

and we sit asking ourselves

over and over

Why we both stay here,

staring at the same table blankly

hand in hand.