Sunday, November 22, 2015

The end of capitalism in 
10 seconds 

“There's no such thing as a free lunch!” he said, 
with a face like an electrocardiogram, 
before the morgue run. 

“Well, if that’s how you want to live, go on,” we said,
with a face like Christmas morning candlelight
at the top of the stairs. 

Friday, November 13, 2015

On a (mile) higher plane 

Really out of breath, in heaven, or anyway 
30,000 feet closer to it 
the two sit back down in their seats. 
Beaming. Tingling. Smiling. Sex in the bathroom; 
the high consciousness of the Mile High Club
just got higher. 

The man, Zorro, says to her, Emmeline Pankhurst
(these are the names they gave themselves as
strangers meeting in the airport bar), 
“I feel so open and generous 
and humane after making love 
like that. Even if it is on aluminum 
and mirrors over blue water. Can I say
something, Emmeline? I want to tell you something.”

She smiles him: go on. 

“Watching the Broncos game back there in the airport
bar, I thought: making those women do that
cheerleading is sexist! And cold. But look here -
I'm not against an ostentatious display of skin.
And I'm not a puritan, believe me, I'm a hedonist,
and I say: what about men as cheerleaders, too?” 

“I was hoping you'd say something like that,”
says Pankhurst “I thought you were a good guy, 
back at the bar.”

“Well, can I say it simply, no nuance, no stalling? 
I'm sick to the gills of sexism. Anyway, I know 
there are women - men too - who'd love to see men 
out there undulating to a touchdown. I think the pilot
of this jet would. He gave me that look, I think.”

This look?” Emmeline turns to Zorro; her eyes
roll still, into sharp focus; green diamonds in a stream.

“Yes, that one. Like this one,” says Zorro; his eyes like
warm chestnuts, roasting on an open … you know. 

“So, Zorro, shall we repair to the Room of Blue Waters?” 

The jet, contageous with generosity and humanity 
goes above 30,000 feet to 60,000, and then into orbit;
everybody smiling
free drinks
stars in their eyes. 

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Aw come on, try to love me

Here I am, in the holidays, my favorites
with the red and green and blue lights 
and papers and presents; listening to this 
music again, Burl and Bing and Enya again;
calling up that cozy-candled night out of
the past (remembering it wrong) and
beating the cozy drum 
one more time for the future 
or a peaceful right now, but 

sentimentality aside
like - way over there
my family ain’t worth the paper
they’re written on. 

Anyone got a match?

Friday, November 6, 2015

Legend in my own mind 

They say it like it’s a bad thing
and accuse me, but yes -
I am. Aren't you? Better a legend
in your own mind than in someone else's. 

Inside me it’s as big as the whole universe
and the other one, put together
maybe bigger! 

Most people's souls now 
are the size of the Apple Store
or the nursing home gift shop 
or the family photo album
or the decor of the waiting room 
at Jiffy Lube. But it's no good 
getting mean about it like this. 

When they were born their soul 
wasn't in the Jiffy Lube, yet. Anyway, 
anyone can enlarge their soul. 

As long as they don’t try it 
at the drive-thru window. 

It takes time to make a legend. 
Take it from me. 

[ Hold on. Did you hear that?                  Let's 
be quiet a minute, I thought I heard 
something.                 It really is big in here … ]