My Next Challenge

I'm
relieved
that
National Bike Month
is
May
rather
than
January.

The Complex Life

My life
grows complex
in small,
simple increments.

Quality Standards

Never eat at a restaurant that doesn't have soap in the restroom.

Never drink in a bar that doesn't have a back door.

Never shop in a grocery store that doesn't sell produce.

Never sing a song that doesn't have lyrics.

Never bet against the house.

Never take sides against the family.

Reply All

The little e-mail meant for human resources was accidentally copied to the entire company.

"This was sent to me in error," the first respondent said, choosing reply all. "I don't work in HR."

"Best of luck with your personal problem," said the next, choosing reply all, "but this should go to personnel."

"Why did this e-mail come to me?" asked the third, choosing reply all. "I work in accounting."

And so it went, on and on, like an e-mail tar pit. The collective tone moved from bewilderment to anger, culminating in an extended chorus of

"Stop replying all!"
"Stop replying all!"
"Stop replying all!"

Fragment

Neural enhancement drugs,
like steroids and plastic surgery,
threaten what we know as normal.

Predominantly white males,
Northeastern Universities,
fraternity members
experimenting

Mt. Rainier

No other mountain, I believe,
Has the same astonishing power
To disappear and reappear at will.

The Voice

When my wife died, a voice in my head comforted me, saying, "She won't have to endure what is to come."

I wonder now if that was a message, or my own crazy response to grief.

The Difficulty of Noticing

My poem takes time,
It grows from a moment,
an image,
a phrase.

It drafts and
redrafts on the page.

It grows and is pruned back.

It opens me up and
I so often wish
to remain
closed.

Hey You Know You Guys

For the man on the corner

"Hey you know
you guys are
just two paychecks,
maybe three,
away from being
homeless
just like me."

Facebook Haiku

The status update
pings a small network of friends
who are all offline.

Tree House Pants

When I was cast out, like Satan, from my friend's tree house,
I announced that I would build my own.

I told my sister.
I told the kids down the street.
I even shouted it over the shopping center.

But, lacking the means (the wood and the nails),
I constructed the platform from salvaged crates
and the walls from my own outgrown pants.

My ex-friend conducted a chorus of laughter at my expense.

We Used to Carve Their Names in Stone

We used to go to the funeral,
Now we go to the memorial.

We used to lay out the body,
Now we lay out the photos.

We used to proceed to the burial,
Now we scatter the ashes.

We used to carve their names in stone.

The Photos I Don't Have

The corner of the school yard
I went to
when I wanted to be alone.

The blacksmith painting
that hung over the couch.

The 4th of July block party,
when everyone was there.

My father,
cigarette smoke in his eyes
and shirt untucked,
working in the garage.

Her eyebrow tilting upward
when she explained.

Pris-Lit

Sir Walter Raleigh,
Martin Luther,
John Bunyan,
the Marquis de Sade,
and Adolph Hitler
would have appreciated
college-ruled toilet paper
in more ways than one.

Canine Spring Fever

My bitch will hump
My passive male
Whenever I lavish him with attention.

Since she lacks the connective anatomy,
He never seems to mind
That she pumps him furiously from behind,
And digs her dewclaws into his back.

Deep in her mammalian brain,
She thinks she can fuck her way to order.

Bad Concert

If it's too loud, you're too old. —American Rock 'n' Roll Proverb

When I saw you
Covering your ears
Through the too-loud concert,
I knew you did it for me.

I was happy to lead you away.

Redacted

The new — promises to unlock these stubborn —
problems and reunite — with — .

If successful, I won't want to —
or step into a —
or feel like I'm — or — different people
or — until I'm —,
or want to — — — — —,
or sell my —,
or join the — —,
or —.

The Bikes I've Had

The Spirit of '76:
Stars, stripes, and a banana seat.

The Moto One:
Red and heavy like a BMX battleship.
Not the Mongoose or Red Line I wished for,
But still,
I spent most of a rainy day in the garage
Just to be near it.

The three-speed garage sale cruiser:
I enhanced it with parts as my funds would allow.

The royal blue high school ten-speed:
A Christmas present I put together and took on long rides.
It eventually gave way to a car.

The budget mountain bike:
Cheaply made,
Hardly used,
Poorly maintained,
Summarily dismissed.

The Mongoose.
I love this bike more and more every day.

Promise Check In

I promised
to write
30 poems
in
30 days
before
I knew
how hard
it is
to write
30 poems
in
30 days.

The Box

In the beginning,
all thinking was out of the box.

That's why we created the box.

Complete this Sentence

To the woman overheard

"Someone dropped
a guitar
on the heater.

When we woke up
this morning,
the green velvet couch"
was sweaty.

Would You Rate the Management

Would you rate
the management
of this company
as "World Class?"

Extremely likely
Somewhat likely
Less than likely
More than unlikely
Uninformed

I can't begin
to imagine
what "World Class"
management
means now.

Not Very Bad

No poem
Can be very bad
If it's very short.

Taboo

Eating in the restroom.
Spitting on the sidewalk.
Talking in the elevator.
Running on the ferry.

Spitting in the elevator.
Talking on the sidewalk.
Running in the restroom.
Eating on the ferry is ok.

I try to not pick my nose in public.
I try to not ride my bike through red lights.

Sometimes I fail.

Opening Day

There is much promise
In an opening day home run.
If the team plays like this all season
They are going to clinch
The pennant.

But in baseball
Failure is the rule.
And so it is in life.

The only promise that opening day can keep
Is that warmer days will come.

If we gather
By the ten thousand
And watch closely,
Patiently,
We will see something amazing
That will lift or break our hearts.

All Your Collected Objects

Wendy,
I gave away your tapes,
Your carefully curated catalogs,
And your lovingly thumbed flipbooks.
Last night, I broke the mug you sipped from
In your unsent video letter.
Your books are gone,
Your toys are gone,
And you, too, are gone.
I'm giving up the crazy hope
Of putting you back together again
from all your collected objects.

Saved by the Sun

When the Sun came out,
I thought,
"At last we're saved!"
What was I so worried about before?
When the sky is blue,
And cherry trees become
The only clouds,
What is there to despair?
I feel quite certain
That it will never rain again.

Aquarium Days

Like a distressed submarine,
My shoe springs a leak
At mid day, and my toes
Quietly drown at the intersection.

The sidewalk is wet, constant.

The memory of these aquarium days
Will draw me outside in August,
Against my will,
To gather every drop of sunlight.

Forgetting

I saw something this morning
So smart and beautiful
That I became nauseous with envy.

It made me despise myself
For not thinking of it first.

I have worked all day long
To forget what it was.

Thirty

I will write thirty poems to April.
They will be brief, like the recipe for ice.
They will paint themselves into corners.
They will be elaborate houses built on sand.
They will come pouring out like water from a boot.
I will write them in foolish.