At the Sunset Motel
late at night
the desk
clerk
chants his mantras
while folding sheets.
The woodsman tells
a rare visitor:
"Can't talk
. . .
gotta get greens
for supper."
Dinner guests --
they'd rather not
go out to
eat;
they'd be happy
just to pick on my
chicken.
Peacock
in a pan
of milk --
hours and
hours
in the oven.
The toad on the threshold
of my new apartment
as
I move in
is still a toad
when I leave.
The frog who swam
to the bottom
of my
darkness
smirks as he
stares me in the eye.
I said, "Okay, God,
have it Your way,
I'll be
lonely."
The very next week:
you!
Another song on the radio
where someone
comes
into someone's life
and fixes all
their
problems.
Month's end --
he trades in
nickel-deposit beer
cans
for a half-gallon
of milk.
The homeless man
refuses pennies
--
"What do I look like,
your sonny's
piggybank?"
Emergency Services
opening its doors,
we pile
through like jackals
to fight over
free pastries.
Bitter chocolate
with almonds --
on this hot
summer night
it takes the place
of love.
Through heat waves
I see him sleeping
naked,
vulnerable --
his daily complacency
a mirage.