Under Repair

Under Repair
She had dreams just
as big as yours - 

of college -
fine clothes -
a useful career -

grabbed her heart
that junior year.

A boy told her

he Loved her

and she was
enough (then)
to believe his
thinly sliced

Promises and
Kisses and

The upshot,

(surprise, surprise)

a baby girl
came along,
perfect in every way.

The boy, drifted away,
a small boat, unmoored.

So there was no 
high school graduation

strut across the stage,
or cartwheels 
with diploma in hand, 
or proud parents beaming.

Home alone that 
celebratory evening,
her daughter fussy
and running a fever,
bottle bubbling
on the stove,
and later, when the baby
finally fell asleep,

She, our dropout,
stood before the mirror
imagining a glorious
satin cap and gown,

tassel flipped to one side,

she saw herself, 
standing beside a dusty road
dressed in sloppy jeans,
hard hat,
and fluorescent vest
holding a



at fifteen bucks an hour

that she wished she had


way back when. 
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Tree Talk

Tree Talk

"But soft," whispered one tree to another,
"Sometwo come this way."

"If  woodsmen," asked his brother,
"Will this be our final day?"

"They carry no weapons, chainsaw or axe,
perhaps young lovers, come to play."

"If so, they intend no harm upon our backs,
and are most welcome to linger stay."

"Like boats to safe harbor let them steer,
and make gentle love among us if they may."

"We counsel them to lay aside any fear,
 and enjoy only boundless joy, we pray.

Photo by chepté cormani on Pexels.com



Toward the end of 6th grade,
on a school field trip, 

much larger than I, 

grabbed me hard by the throat 
and kissed me full on the lips. 

I recoiled in horror, and wiped my mouth of it. 

She’s gone now, and she never gave me another.

Some nights, late and alone in the dark,
I long for one more,

but, it was a once in a lifetime event.
Photo by Luku00e1u0161 Dlutko on Pexels.com