I have to grade the pain on a scale of 1 to 10
I want to say maybe 6
To me everything feels like a 10
But 10 is probably a dangerous grade
One from which you are not meant to survive.
If you had not fought with me this morning
I would be home now
Instead of walking out angry
Ankle twisting on the treacherous curb
I’d be home instead of here thinking of a number.
I debate buying you a gift on my way back
Maybe a chic scarf
But would that be smart?
The message I’d be sending to you
Fight with me and I’ll gift you a nice present.
A nurse wraps a brace around my ankle
I picture a scarf
Around her delicate neck
And in my twisted imagination
You are jealous, at least a 6 on a scale of 1 to 10.
I – Pebbles
Splash as I drop them into a still lake
The ripples flow outward in beautiful waves
Dance as I string them together
The smiles spreads across your face in beautiful arcs
Like the ripples die so does the magic of the words
Luckily I enjoy dropping more pebbles into the lake
II – The comet
She is here
Lighting up the night sky
She won’t be back again
Not in my lifetime
But I am glad
At least I get tonight
To spend with her
III – Rye
My throat is parched and lips are dry
Sure, beer, wine, vodka or rum
Can quench my thirst
But only bourbon can satisfy
I was walking with my head down,
my hands in my pockets,
whistling a tune,
when I came across the lug nut.
There it lay staring back at me,
willing me to pick it up,
round and shiny.
What is your story, I wondered.
The blackness of the night
Silently strips the rose
Of its dress of pretty petals
The stillness of the night
Epitomized by the sedan,
Sad to be lonely and cold
Above it, a swarm of insects
Do their dance of confusion
Around their God, the street light
And the boy staring out his window
Studying, instead of Frost and Whitman,
The rose, the sedan and the bugs
If only they didn’t write in tongues
So he could complete his paper
And get a deserved good night’s sleep
The cloud shields the sun
Cool, I smile, but the poor worm
Never saw the bird
She cleans the fog off the bathroom mirror
And stares at the stranger within
What happened to the shapely siren?
You did. But no, she won’t blame you
And for the record I won’t blame you either
For the dust gathering on my easel
For the party invites I could not attend
For not buying a new sofa set
I gently straighten each of your fingers
So I can release one of mine
From a clench that is surprisingly strong
Seeking comfort and security
How could the blame be yours
When it’s not your fault?
And besides, the truth is that
One gurgle makes up for it all.
All my poems have death in them
Does that make me crazy? Morbid?
I searched for the answer
But the page was not found
Although I want beauty to remain forever
And the kiss of life to always revive
“Where have you been?” said the nut to the screw
“In your absence do you know what I went through?
I longed for someone to keep me in place
Many tried but how could you they replace?
First was Grubby who was full of his head
No humor and barely covered two threads
Bolt was kind to me but so very meek
Too clumsy and in the end just too weak
Then came Rusty an arrogant mistake
He hurt me at every turn he could take.”
The screw apologized to his old friend
“I lost my way but am now on the mend
I left you thinking I knew what was sound
I pried myself loose and feel to the ground
Soon I was lonely all I did was mourn
Perhaps I wasn’t better off alone
I felt bold enough to admit my wrong
I crept out and am back where I belong
Now I know you are my only true groove.”
Thus ends the tale of the nut and the screw