Big Hat
I like to write poetry because it makes me feel happy and also because I like to write it with my papa. And because it makes me think of my home.
Letter to Bob Boynton, Music Prodigy
Dear Bob: I find myself hearkening back
sometimes to those old days when you and I
were playing in garage bands, way way back
in high school. You were the drummer and I
was the guitarist.
The Pleasures of Age
So what if the neighbors hate you?
(In my case it’s worse: they pass
without saying a word.)
In the Arboretum
I tune my guitar
to the bird who sings in almost E,
the one with almost perfect pitch
while counting 1 & 2, 3, 1 & 2, 3.
After Her Affair
Here’s what he does to reclaim the ravine:
He puts on leather gloves and strips
the bank of brambles. This takes weeks.
He burns the debris in a pile late one night
while sparks shoot out like stars into the dark.
Shaking Hands with the Dead
They took a piece of cadaver
and put it in my wrist,
dead ligament better than
no ligament at all.