Tits And Ass On Main Street

The Beautifullest (Anthology)
Pure Slush Books  Vol. 17
Print & e-Pub (May 2020)



Not surprisingly, I notice her naked
ass first: a beautiful ass, buttery
smooth, each cheek firm and 
round, perfect, perfectly tanned,
and cellulite free.  A Venus ass, 
when Venus was at her prime.
A lovely ass I could easily die for
or, even uninvited, marvel at  
for hours.  I know this, even 
with only the merest glance. 

Breasts to match: also tanned,
also Aphrodite perfection, each
a perfect handful, also perfectly
naked, firmly inviting a caress
or the tender ministry of lips.
I see them for only a second 
before I turn the corner, catch
only a glimpse in the mirror.

And as she recedes, I note
her perfect hips, her perfect
thighs: a pair of lover’s thighs,
not designed for running or
holding a baby on a lap; no:
thighs designed to open and
admit a lover, hold him there
until, at last, his darkness fades.

But her arms arrest me most:
She has no arms; has no arms
to wave at me as I pass, 
no mannequin lips to smile, 
nor eyes to see me go.

Voice Activated

Up The River (Issue 8)

Albany Poets (Online) May 2020

I do
whatever she says

pick up my socks
take out the trash

get the Chinese take-out
do the dishes

mow the lawn
you get the idea

It used to bug me
until

she reminded me
I love her madly

Some Things, Sometimes

Up The River (Issue 8)

Albany Poets (Online) May 2020

Some things never stop.
Some things, stopped,
never get restarted. I’m
like some of those things.

Sometimes, started, I can’t stop.
Sometimes people yell at me,
“Shut the hell up, willya?”
They don’t know me.

Sometimes I just sit there,
silent, pretending to think.
Pretending. People think I’m
thinking. I don’t think I am.

Some things just repeat
over and over and over,
continue repeating forever.
Some poems never end.

Amuse-Bouche

Up The River (Issue 8)
Albany Poets (Online) May 2020

After finally determining 

the critical difference 

between pudgy Basset hounds

and sinewy Burmese pythons,

he changed the name of his failing diner 

to Amuse-Bouche, 

totally revamped his menu, 

and began serving vastly different lunches 

to a more discerning clientele.

Separate Ways (A Ghazal)

North Carolina Poetry Society
Pinesong Anthology (Print) May 2020
**Honorable Mention, Joanna Catherine Scott Award
(Sonnet or Traditional form)


Separate Ways 

She likes to travel, leaves him alone for days at home;
and he, reclusive, easily a hermit, gladly stays at home.

She likes to wake to the sound of surf and a foggy sea,
imagines him waking up in the mountain greys at home.

Fog is fog, he tells her on the phone; it all burns off—
but when she leaves he finds himself in a haze at home.

He makes the bed and cooks the meals. He’s got his flutes
and drums and all the other things he plays at home.

Still, he hopes he remains Her Beloved Poet, immersed
in words and searching for the perfect phrase. At home.

May Day

50-Word Stories (Online) May 2020

He’d waited long enough.
Surrounded by new greens
under a fresh blue
he drew three deep breaths,
dove into May’s first morning.

May air fills lungs more fully than
any April rain has ever flooded
any April field. May Day’s sunshine
warms everything more deeply
than any mid-winter furnace fire.