We Gig
We throw the word around like gold coins:
got a gig, come to my gig, gigging tonight.
We are cool, we play music for money,
not that boring classical
Audio
How to Tell a Right-Trunked Elephant from a Lefty
check for the side with ruffled whiskers
and wrinkles, elephants tend to tilt
their trunks to scoop fruit so one half’s
always a bit shabbier than the other.
I Love My Neighbors but Hate When They Barbeque (Radio Edit)
POLKA FOR EIGHT FREAKING HOURS,
my daughter cries out as she cowers,
taste in this music is not ours.
Polka for eight freaking hours.
Ruderal
It was a life spent, mostly
stooped over things.
The counter at the butcher’s shop
her parents owned,
all through both wars,
wrapping bacon in brown paper parcels
as bombs fell
and far away, men she loved
were shot at
Don’t Stop
Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
It’s about a dark night, a path, thick woods.
The light was nailed shut, then opened like a door.
The cabin you found had a hard dirt floor,
cobwebs, an old guitar made of plywood.
Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
When My Student Who Wants to Be a Writer Says They Do Not Read
Why would you build a house with no nails?
Why plant, till, harvest a crop
in whose taste you find no savor?
The bees of the field scan the dances of their sisters
before penning a path to the lavender patch—