Anything Helps
He stood in the deserted island formed
at the intersection of Kolb and 22nd Street.
Sleepy-eyed commuters glanced
at his cardboard declarations:
Poem
Free
Sheets of white paper flapped like seagull wings
on the stirred currents of whizzing cars.
The light turned the color of autumn leaves.
Cars slowed and rested.
Windows slid down. Elbows protruded.
Voices sang out.
“Any of those
old-school rhymes today?”
“Hey, man. Make me giggle.
Need one terrible like.”
“Loved yesterday’s.
Read it to my kids at the dinner table.”
“Touch my heart, Poet.
It’s hurtin’ bad sore.”
“I got a feeling
you’re gonna make me cry.”
He walked the line. Handed ‘em out.
Touched skin. Stretched his grin.
“Morning,” he said.
“Feelin’ good today?”
“Thinkin’ ‘bout yuh,” he said.
“Hope this helps,” he said.
The light changed color,
golf course green.
Traffic edged away,
a soothed tide going out.
Some waved the words out the window
in a nice, see yuh later kinda way—
and his ribs ached
from the banging goin’ on inside.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Ripped
Ripped
Before fitness gyms
existed,
a young man's
muscles
came
from helping
Father
lift the stones,
travel the plow,
chop firewood,
and fetch
water
for
Mother.
All the while,
Sister
studied her
face
in the looking glass,
and dreamt of the
ripped lad
(apprenticed to the Smithy)
holding her in his arms.
. . . j
from the Wonderments and Such collection
A Flower's Keeper
Windowsills,
facing south
to catch the warmth,
more than willing,
make steadfast
gardeners.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Cobbled Together
“Do you envy our beauty?”
the blooms asked the cobblestones.
“Envy? Not at all,” came the sure reply.
“Surely our scent then?”
“Envy your scent? Never.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Our delightful shape?”
“What is shape?” the cobbles asked.
“Time and water made us what we are.
We are each unique.”
“As are we,”
the flowers insisted.
“Be satisfied then,” the cobbles said.
“Value yourselves and be quiet.
There is still much to learn.”
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Quarantined
More than just a rainy day
child’s indoor game,
Monopoly
taught us that some
properties were more
valuable than others;
that hotels cost more
than houses;
that landlords were
cruel masters;
that money could
be hoarded;
that bankruptcy
was shameful;
that math
could be managed
in the head;
and
that success in life
might depend
on the roll of dice.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Genesis, Revised
In the beginning
there was a constant
stream of sounds,
and then God
sat down on a wooden stool,
and much like grandmother,
intent upon her business of
snapping harvested beans
for the canning jars,
God broke noise
into discrete pieces
called words,
knowing the Tower of Babel’s
foundation had already
been laid
that we might the better
understand,
laugh,
and love
each other.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Speed Demons
In our frantic dash
through life
we’ve devised
microwave ovens,
self-checkout lanes,
next day delivery
and
blazing gigahertz.
Thank God for
slow summer days
that entice
sweet corn
seven feet toward heaven,
lingering kisses in the night,
and
the nine loving months
mother and child are one.
. . . j
from the Wonderments and Such collection
School For Boys
Had I but kept
my wits
about me
in school,
I would have
taken the
Intro To Kissing
elective
instead of
Algebra 1
and then,
a year later,
opted for the
Advanced Kissing
class
in place of
Geometry 1.
There’s little doubt
I would have earned
a better G.P.A.
and perhaps
gained
higher
status with
the Girls.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
Ready or Not
Despite a thousand warnings
from people who make it their
business to know,
the weather—
no matter the season—
is worse than
Gramma can ever remember,
and she,
(God bless her gentle heart)
has no employment
except to remember
her childhood,
a pleasant time when children
played giggle games like
hopscotch, marbles,
and hide and seek.
Her eyes closed tightly against
the bark of a shade tree in the
front yard, she counted slowly—
“. . . 98, 99, 100. Here I come,
ready or not!”
so that others, forewarned,
hid amid silent suppressions—
until, muscles taut, ready for
the race back to the maple—
erupt like startled cheetahs
hiding behind the
neighbor’s gate.
. . . j
from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection
