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Lucid
When you agreed to watch Godzilla on a Friday night
I tried not to get too excited.
My shoulder fell asleep about the same time you did –
during the slow part of the movie.
It travelled with you in your dreams
to keep you from witnessing
a Japanese woman’s screams,
stolen by dubbed English.
I was the lizard on the screen
afraid to breathe,
afraid that if I did, you’d open your eyes
Self-Portraits Every October
You told me I looked manic
While my eyes and the knife glistened,
But I know what those pumpkins plot.
So I stab to settle some sort of score.
Because I know that their connections run deep,
All the way back to the patch.
Still, you said, let them die with dignity.
Instead, I etch my smile into their skin.
Priorities
Some days,
in fact most days,
my wants are listed
like groceries or chores:
A diesel 1965 Ford Pickup
A Winchester 12 gauge
And a buck toothed, long haired Montana woman
Who is madly in love with the man
Who will own me
When I am reincarnated as a Yellow Labrador
Who rides in the passenger seat, the wind blowing against my face
and into my half closed mouth
my cheeks and tongue flapping
Balk
I finally listened to my coach,
who never knew that he gave me dating advice
when he said, with his cap close over his eyes
“When you’ve got this many strikes against you,
you better have some balls.”
Years later, while looking past your lips
I’d think of my coach, who you will never meet.
Maybe you got hit on by a fast ball thrown in a sales pitch.
And in the second inning, if you caught a foul word or
I knew.
I knew that I would awkwardly invite you
to watch this sappy hospital comedy.
and when you gave me that look I'd say
something unnecessarily revealing
like, “It's an arm,
not the suffocating cage of commitment."
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