Counting Pills

                        If dying was easy, I would have done it sooner

Would you believe

me if I told you

I wasn’t really

counting pills?

Would you believe

me if I said I wasn’t

ready to go?

The whiskey bottle

is empty, so too

the pill bottles.

The white, blue,

green and cream

are supposed

to make me happy.

Despite their efforts,

I remain in my black hole.

The pills slither down.

I slow down.

I feel the atria lurch

followed by the ventricles.

The rhythm falters,

draws to a close.

It doesn’t matter.

                                                            Black Coffee Review

                                                            August 2019

Top of the Bridge

I climb onto the bridge’s railing,

toss your name into the wind

but it revisits me like the swallow. 

I think I have captured you but

then you shift away like the fog

underneath the bridge. 

The mist net will not catch you.

I watch you float down the river.

I think I am done with your memory.

But I am not.  Grayness mists

around me.  I shiver in the dampness.

I will forever be cold.

                                                                                    Poetica Review  spr 2020

’54 Chevy

It was faded blue with a white top.  What I remember most are trips

out West taken most every summer.  That car took us to Yellowstone,

Grand Tetons, Bryce’s Canyon, Wind Rivers and to New England

for the Presidential Range in New Hampshire.  Dad built storage boxes

to fit in the back to carry all our camping gear: tent, sleeping bags, utensils. 

My brother and I sat in the back doing the usual brother/sister stuff:

“Mom, he’s on my side of the seat!” and “When will we get there?”

Dad took care of that car: changed the oil, checked the timing,

gapped the new spark plugs.  We had to get a new car for our new hobby:

horses. The old Chevy just couldn’t pull a trailer.   I don’t remember

what happened to the old car, just that another Chevy replaced it. 

I’ve had several cars since, two Vegas, three Subarus, and a Nissan truck.

Some of those cars had lots of miles on them but none has ever taken

me as far as that old Chevy.

                                                                                    Muddy River Poetry Review

                                                                                    Spring 2020

Under the Bed
When I was young,
monsters lived
under my bed
or in my closet
waiting
until dark
to whisper
my name.

Now, they hide
deep in an unmapped
part of my brain.
Or maybe in that bourbon
in the freezer waiting
to be poured. They call
my name at night.
In the morning, I hold
them at bay
until it’s after noon
and the bottle is gone.

SLAB 2016

One Can Never Have Too Many Recipes
20 chocolate cheesecake recipes
15 for pound cakes
a book of 420 baking recipes.

2 sets of spring form pans
ramekins for crème brulee,
a Pyrex baking dish
A little torch to caramelize sugar
I have Mom’s old tube and Bundt pans
and sifter with no memory of her baking.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Hostess Twinkies
At 63, it’s a wonder that I am alive.
Mom put Hostess Twinkies
in my school lunch for dessert.
Don’t remember the sugar high
that gets so much talk today.

Who knew about gluten? Grade school lunch: white bread,
baloney and cheese, mustard and mayo sandwich
with a bag of chips in a brown bag. Sometimes,
it would be peanut butter or cream cheese and jelly.
I bought my milk in the cafeteria, chocolate if I was lucky.

And what about the milk? It was whole.
Now, you are supposed to be drinking soy.
Today, someone is going to miss their cold glass of milk
and ‘warm- from -the oven’ fudge brownies.

I ate hotdogs, not the ones certified
organic and 100% Angus, just plain hot dogs.
No telling what was in them. Nitrites for sure.
Mustard and ketchup on the bun.

Today, a vegetarian, my cholesterol is high,
not much to cut out of my menu. I drink 2% milk,
eat a cheese sandwich with mustard and mayo
on whole wheat and wonder how much longer I have.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Downsizing
Electric hedge trimmer that I forgot I had,
scythe I got from a friend and never used,
old saw and machete:

taking them to the Swap Shop wasn’t hard
along with the clothes that don’t fit
or haven’t been worn in years.

Pictures rescued from old trunks, some still in their
old frames, these will be tearfully dispatched,
even though I don’t know who they are.
Jewelry from my father I’ve never worn.
Who will want all this?

Not the nephew nor the niece (she is taking the china),
not strangers in an antique store or moving sale.
Owl pictures from my brother, pictures I have taken,
more than enough to cover all the walls–these I will
keep, the others, maybe I will ask you
to take them to the dump.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

Backyard Stream
Guess you’d call it seasonal, dry
in summer’s drought, iced over
in winter, this 150’ of stream
I own. Last spring, a red-shouldered
hawk hunted in it. He nailed a frog, presented
it to his mate watching from a poplar limb.
Hidden from beneath the bank’s overhang,
a blue bird wetted each flight feather,
finished its bath in the redbud.

Yesterday, the brook was a black slash
border lined by snow. Two or three at a time,
goldfinches dipped into an ice free pool
to drink. Barking up a storm, the dog
pointed to the creek. Cocking its head,
a great blue heron plodded
down the sand bar.

The Raven’s Perch 2016

October Moon
The “O” of October,
shiny and white, pouring down
into the leafless forest.

In the glow, the snowy owl wakes,
feathers puffed out against the cold.
Perhaps it dreams of the rabbit some
see on the moon’s face.

The moon’s light flickers in the stream.
Frost outlines fallen oak leaves in crystal white,
crackling under the doe’s feet as she roams the woods.

Moon sits high in the sky, with only one face to us–
only the stars can see the other side.

Third Wednesday 2016

Ode to Black
A cave’s mouth
Swirling bats
Stream smoothed stone
Raven.
Onyx.
Dog’s nose.
Chimney swifts spinning into the smoke stack.
Sea shell
Vinyl record
Piano’s sharps and flats
Burnt candle wick
Horse’s mane caught in the wind as he leaves
Lightening scarred tree
The shirt you gave me
Hollow heart

Third Wednesday 2016