polyester (1st draft)

such a pretty word
when draped across the cellar door
or swept across the marble floor
or wadded up in a porn store
say it with me now


i once dated identical twin sisters 
and ester 
they clashed and they schemed 
they split straight down the seam
nothing loved me quite like jealous sisters
gave me thrills, gave me blisters
they lived in my dresser drawer
which rhymes with cellar door
so beautiful

from the polyester mountains of puru 
to polyester mines of malaysia 
the motherload of our supply-side
glows like green naugahyde
tastes like formaldehyde 
chafes more than rawhide
smells like something plastic died 
the hidden treasure
in every pair of walmart socks

that’s a haiku

think of all the pretty things we say every pedestrian day
“pleased to meet you” or “hold the elevator”
or “apocalyptic table candles” or “pancreatic cancer”
or “seasick stallions” or “wandering cartwheels” 
or “siddhartha never sat in traffic, only under mango trees” or
“hey, we’re out of toiletpaper”
so beautiful

what word could taste sweeter pressed between the lips? 
not a kiss, not gossamer, not grandmother’s peach cobbler 
not cashmere, not lyocell, not fleece
what could be smoother? not vanilla, not sarsaparilla
not satin, not lace 
certainly not velveeta
what could wrap and warm our broken souls any tighter 
than a brand new j crew christmas sweater?

sing it with me now – polyester!

don’t dis on my wardrobe
don’t pull on that thread
you can’t break it, can’t burn it, can’t breathe it 
can’t eat, can’t beat it with an ugly stick
can’t lose it, can’t leave it, can’t bleach it 
can’t bury it alive cause it comes back all angry and zombie-eyed
can’t wear it out, can’t wear it in, can’t live without it
can’t wash it in hot water
can’t wish it all 

say it with me now


posted for shay’s word garden word list

and dverse open link night

new year’s meh (2nd draft)

to the year that has passed and all its happenstance 
so long 

to all the crosswords left unsolved 

to the books i stack everywhere
have faith

to the sky that does not know if it wants to rain or snow 
may you find peace 

to my neighbor who rakes the leaves that fall from my tree on his lawn
i wave from the window 

to all the dead batteries in the back of the desk drawer 
i’m sure we’ll meet again 

to last year’s new year’s eve seven-layer dip on the bottom shelve of the fridge 
sorry i let you down
to the empty gum wrapper blowing around in the gutter 
enjoy your travels

to the cable tv news and the loons who scream on the bus 
good show 

to all the potholes on east alameda avenue that never get fixed 
stay true 

and to the new year that approaches with all its nervous verve 
i say 

note: submitted for publication 12-31-22. i turned off the comments because these are just updated reposts, for my own organizational purposes, comments and whatnot would be redundant

the rainkeeper (2nd draft)

old maid marge never loses a single drop of rain
leaking thru the roof
none will stain the wood grain floor
she spins a million puddlebowls
each drop will plop plang and pling with planned precision 
        she likes to sing along
old maid marge keeps tidal waves in jars 
angry stormspells, unrelenting and fermenting 
        old maid marge turns water into whiskey 

old men drowning in parked cars paralyzed by old guitars
old dogs play dead on spinster rugs 
        as storms bang against the paint-peeled world
old winds blow thru broken windowpanes, old books blown open
flipping random pages, old voices singing: armageddon! 
                god himself screaming:
                        we need more jars!

rain for the cities and the plains
rain for the little desert warbler
rain like razor blades in cascades of liquid rage
rain to tame fire, rain to wash the scars, rain to swamp the graves
	rain for cain 
	rain of abel 
rain for thirsty puddles
rain for the thane and rain for the rogue
                rain for getting naked 

old maid marge plants watermelon in her weathered garden
she likes to watch water grow, sells them by the barrel 
old maid marge sits like marble sculpture praying
a birdbath in a grove
the water in the bowl seems somehow blessed
is the same rain that falls everywhere
cup your hands to catch some
			and exist 

note: going to sit on this one for a minute, something still doesn’t seem right