April

Last night God sat outside your window
Popping bubble-wrap as you laid
Draped around me like a
Heated breathing cocoon

The popping played in syncopation
With your each deep inhalation
Your hand kept my head from
Falling through the world

April often brings Him near, popping
Plastic bubbles in the night and
I drifted in an out of sleep
Enraptured by the sound

And even though I know it’s unimportant
I can’t help but wonder what that
Wrapping once protected

Was it some unknown ancient artifact
Still waiting to be found, or
Solomon’s holy temple unmolested
- Or perhaps a Christian martyr
Burned in ancient Rome for his confession
And God is unwrapping him now as
He prepares His house of many
Mansions and readies for His reign

But really, I suppose It’s only May

My cat’s tail has a life of its own

Regal and austere
She surveys the room
Her domain that she
Rules with iron authority

But her tail flitters about
Unaffected
Severe countenance
Notwithstanding

A nonchalant
Dancing yo-yo
Jumping with
Marionette precision

I imagine a little
Faerie dancing
A ballet on it’s end
Keeping her balance
In spite of frenetic
Unpredictability

I secretly applaud
The faerie, as she
Anticipates every
Movement with
Unparalleled grace

My cat is unimpressed

When I hear you
I long to be next to you

I can feel your affection in the
Vibration of your voice

The sound reaches through the
Phone and touches my cheek

While timbre connects the
Miles between us

Next to me I can see
Your water blue eyes

Words float by
In the breeze
Singing
Butterfly, roses

It would be nice
Were there a
Lake nearby

I could watch them
Jump wiggling
Flip-flopping
In an out of the
Water

But I content
Myself
Watching them
Drip like
Dew from the
Trees

It must have been the bacon

This morning I had bacon for breakfast
And I never have bacon

When I came out from the dusty diner
Some cretin left a key mark on my car

No one had ever maligned my vehicle
In such a fashion before

When I returned home I found tire marks on my lawn
Doubtless left by some bored teenager
Up to adolescent shenanigans with which
I am well familiar from my youth

Until now Providence had never returned the favor

On my answering machine
A message spoke of a
Tawdry drunken evening long past
And for which I have no memory

It was a sincere attempt to make amends
From a woman I don’t know or remember

Her vibratto voice was smokey tenor
I could feel her trembling determined
Her soul seeking absolution
And her body reprieve
From it’s long alcoholic soaking

I wondered what crime I might have
Committed and forgotten and why
This morning was conspiring against me

It must have been the bacon