shimmy

  could never really have enough

a side dish of tiger's eye

pockets stuffed with marigold petals

walking always toward the downy moon

one hand clenching courage

the other kismet and truth

monkey's paw on offer

and, puckered at the wistfulness of wanting

hands swan dive to my sides then lie quiet

no wish to hold what couldn't be handled

  well i shelved astral projection for an entire sunslip

collecting dustmotes until Abdul wired it in the snap of a mousetrap

a torrent of pixies streaming through the transom 

and us soothed by its complex resolution

  the butter when spread thick is conductive

the fault lines only improving the toast

after the ladle spilled over with satin

the table was waxy with satisfaction at being included

then faster than i can think

now what's that cake i was making

it is and who can help me eat it

  if there were ever a sparrow's ear of doubt

i'd have the bucket on my head in an instant

if only to create a pocket

where all the words sound like my own

HYDRATION

the royal blue peace glass 
the silver sky seen through it
the cat in the scratch silk smock
the cork with the angry face and pushpin arms,
the Brighton beach eyelash babushka,
the pyrite orb cradled by the polished claws,
the button shells from the factory beach,
the cracked plastic heart box,
the arrow on the bed of dried roots,
the painted plaster stone,
the slender gemstone corn cob,
the yellow lamp with its danger bulb,
the tomato couch that comes apart,
the right vessel, lens, tick, stretch
held and coaxed and coaxed and held
the earthy powder that lasts long
night for morning, morning for afternoon
time for time
filtering the
channels 

hazy bathtub truth or dare
a few hours shy of dawn
when shame’s still fast asleep 
newspaper strips soaking
we’re floating in our clothes
lucky no one’s forehead hits the spout
a goose egg for sure
so free we’re not worried
about the best time to make an exit
the promise of romance
makes the air tingle
more magical was the romance not materializing
but still ending on a high note somehow
at least for us
wandering the few short blocks home
giggling and in a kind of awe

Dogs, Bifocals

Today was the day, held ctrl, 

slowly splayed my fingers on the trackpad,

the cat's paw in my knee,

and the screen came back to me.

I've worn glasses most my life, so this 

addition of what will never come back

is new as was the exaggerated gasp

that began to accompany every dog shit

round which I slalomed the pushchair.

I never saw it come on,

suddenly my words were

dominated by dogs,

by this is what happens:

we go to the dogs.

Dogs are humans too, so I shan't go

where I want to go but yes,

my mind turned, my words dominated

by dogs and humans are lonely too

and perhaps too distracted or

dumb or sad to scoop shit

but humans are lonely too

and is this what happens then, when I 

can no longer see the screen 

it's the trick of youth that I should

see the screen forever so it must

be the fault of youth

and, and that dogs are humans too,

and guileless too, 

you truly get back what you put in,

they can't flip a plate,

or grow older and remind you your

words no longer or ever did carry weight,

I reduced the zoom again to prove a point,

I can barely see the screen anymore,

dogs don't just up and leave,

and spend a lifetime in Crocs,

go to the deli, bong in hand.

I am rooting for dogs in good faith,

it will hold, and I must believe

that the scream I felt in December will

forever remain silent:

waiting for coffee whilst the barista

lost her absolute mind over

a dog, a dog that was not hers,

that would have loved her anyway

and I thought of all the dogs

and all the people

and how invisible a pushchair essentially makes you,

no-one crowds round,

no-one shakes you by the hand,

no-one loves you for your son,

who will one day scream I hate you,

which will, and I'm sorry, be so much more

than a bite on the hand,

my dog bit me once

and I look at the scar and think,

this sweet, complicated creature did that,

this box of ashes on 

my mum's mantle.

It took some will to turn and walk then

from this barista's unbridled,

performative joy.

Dear Me, Jan 2023 (autofill)

dear me know when you are ready for the sun to come visit

dear me and my mama are going to be home with you soon

dear me and your family has been good to me

dear me i hope your best friend is doing well

dear me and i the best way to keep your life in mind is to become part of the river

dear me if you need me if you need anything

dear me and my gosh are you okay

dear me and my mama love you and love you so much honey

Slaughter For The Uninitiated

Killing a chicken didn't sound that hard to me

I'm not saying it sounded fun or burden free 

but I've looked away while putting a worm on a hook

and still managed to pierce it's body instead

of my own squishy flesh 

then without missing a beat 

cast it out for the fish or for instance 

I don't like setting traps for mice

I apologize to their snapped bodies 

but it's either that or let the cat handle it

and we all know what sadists cats can be

So when the chance came to raise some broilers

(yes that's what chickens raised for meat are called)

(yes named after a cooking technique)

I thought that's something I should have to do

like a duty to my food

maybe even an act of gratitude

six chicks from tractor supply who i did not name

broilers or for that matter anything

came to live in my yard for a Spring

Every day I gave them fresh water and feed

their growth happening at alarming speed 

it was cute at first like a chubby baby

then they got so large they could barley stand

and I looked away while I shook more food from the can

I Googled phrases like

How to humanely kill a chicken?

Fastest way to kill a chicken?

Painless chicken death

Easy at home slaughter

Slaughter for the uninitiated 

Merciful killing

Research led me to choose the pillowcase technique which summarized is this: 

Cut hole in one corner of pillowcase large enough for chicken head to poke through

Put chicken in pillowcase with head sticking out of hole

(supposedly the pillowcase soothes the bird like swaddling does a baby)

(it is very important to me that the bird feel soothed by all this)

Next hang pillowcase/bird upside down

Chicken should be very calm now and immobile

Using a sharp blade swiftly but surely slit throat

The cut should be clean and deep

the blood draining so quickly that the creature is stunned 

Death should be quick

Dare I say, easy?

Google does not describe the seconds 

that live on in eternity

where the life force 

which is 

in 

every

type 

of 

body

clings 

to cruel hope

to hold on

before it

lets go

in the end

I don't know

easily? 

What I learned:

I 

do 

not 

believe

in 

the 

easy

killing

of

anything

Salamander

going home, or moving 

between all of the ponds

which have nourished your

spirit but remained isolated. 

You crawl on your belly

through the mud to find 

a new pond to meet new 

fish friends and fish food. 

You tell them about your

other ponds and friends. 

You use discrepancies as 

currency for fish food. 

But you're not a fish,

you're a salamander and 

before long you don't know

if you're a real fish-friend or fishmonger. 

You crawl on your belly 

back to one pond and another. 

You go home and tell your 

home fish about water temperatures

and acidity and mercury and fish food. 

But you're not a fish, you're a salamander. 

You go home every time you drag

your belly across the mud with fierce

conviction that the ponds are related some how. 

And it all seems rather pointless but

you love fish, and love the ponds that you 

crawl between on your belly, 

gently pushing mud to the side, 

You love that small trickle of water 

that follows you from pond to pond, 

You dream of that small trickle 

turning into a tapestry of streams. 

Fixed

i got the dog fixed

kind of a shame
was an expensive dog
could have bred it

i'm going to make ramen noodles

some ham
not ham
there is no ham

i'd do clam chowder firewood

g string thong
girls from not the midwest
pink bandaid and some Claritin

Cal Anderson

The whippet wearing a yellow raincoat
bobs like a broken see-saw 'round
the grassy dog park, delighted by 
the ball that goes and goes and goes
just for him. I watch the whippet run 
while the whip cold wind paints 
my face red with a hiss and a bang.  
Behind the bench a crowd of 
hop-hornbeams sleep for spring, even
as the blue breaks through above. 
Meanwhile the skateboard teens do tricks 
with a lazy vengeance. I stand and turn
towards home wondering, could I be happier 
wearing a yellow raincoat.