Hot Pot

Hot pot steams
and bubbles
as we lounge about,
dunking and laughing,
communal mealing.

Sharing the juices.

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Community Bike Shop Dream

Slow to take
me in
Noah finally turns around.
He grins.
“Hey Mr. T. You’re next.”
He’s so matter of fact.
Even with five years
since last meeting he
remains quiet and
not effusive as he deals
with the customer before me.
Pulling the connecting hoses from
his delicate looking
pack he smiles at
his departing customer.
“Long time no see.”
He lets the hoses drop
to swing
as he offers his large hand.
It’s a genuine hand shake
only a little oily
and held for just
long enough to renew
friendship.
“Are you a customer today or
here to chat?”
“Both.”
His eyes slid over my
dilapidated bike.
Before he can comment I sneak in.
“It’s my beater.
Doesn’t matter what I buy
it just gets wrecked.”
“I remember. You are hard on bikes.”
“So what does this do?”
I point at his pack
which had circuit boards
terracing out from pockets and holes
in the main canvas covered pack.
“Oh. I just modded
my own soft computer.
You know,
like a wearable computer,
it doesn’t do much yet,
just podcasts sent through
when I’m working alone
or alerts.”

He’s looking down
and has my beater in a stand
and found my problem
already
my loose brake cables
and
is already cutting my old
and pulling in new.

I bike away
twenty minutes
later
but
a virus from Noah’s wearable computer
steals my ident
and I’m biking
biking
biking
lost and amnesiac
biking
for days
and days
never ends.

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Fortunate Too

fortune too

Another favourite fortune from a cookie. Not funny like the last one but good advice none-the-less.

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Hi Ho

Work is a trudge back
challenge
after the Christmas break.

the cold air of early morning
the half remembered project
those last minute items partially started
meetings, oh God, meetings!

but routining
to schedule
can be rewarding

the walking
civilly talking
dietary perfunctuality
order instead of relaxed chaos
showering
proper clothes

but still
there’s lots to miss
as I start to build
my need
for another
vacation.


intro

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Silent Night

It is so adult
so mature
to be responsible

well isn’t it?

We grow out of
childish ways
to face the world
and become more

more than we expected and hoped

we learn to afford
what was unattainable
learn to gain affection
from who we admire
are educated to understand
what was bewildering

that’s the ideal

But if we make mistakes along
the way?

Are we
be we man or woman
responsible for those?

Even if they have nine month price tags?

Even if they’ll ruin our lives?

No. That’s not a scandal any more.
We’ve grown out of sin.
We’re not responsible.
That was just a burdensome mistake.
That couldn’t possibly add to my life until I’m
damned good and ready.

As long as we’re tolerant, PC and/or nice
we’re adult now.
Upstanding Individuals.

No need for propping up
or external morals
because they don’t become me.
It’s what I am
that’s important.

Our hollow eyes
painted over with makeup or tans
and great hair
we stand forth
stamp our feet
daring
anyone to face
me
and say
that I’ve done wrong


intro

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Angels, late December, 2015

A resigned
face settled into
for the post-Christmas season
still pretty despite
looks into the distance.

I don’t know
her troubles
or anything else
about her
as she leaves with
her kids.

And here I sit
alone
wondering
yearning about
connection.


intro

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Sister

Wendy lights our eyes
with paint in color enriched
warmth so imagined


intro

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