Saturday, April 21, 2012

like new-new shoes

for six agonizing months
my new shoes often came untied
no matter how i tied them
finally took laces from old shoes i wear

changed longer new laces for the old with care
all fit in their new shoe lace places
my new shows are now staying tied
the faithful old shoes, however, i haven’t tried

life is a car

how shiny cute in the showroom.
take it home and keep it clean.
friends comment when they see it.
keep it tuned, fluids up, taunt, looking good.

protected from bad weather, inspected,
for years return several times for checkups.
always be aware to avoid accidents.
though over time scratches and dings happen.

then when at last it is worn, aged, paint becomes dull,
more difficult or impossible to repair; it’s seen its day.
taken to a new home, or left unused, nearly forgotten.
that’s car life; leaving you with photos and memories.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

so the marathon

so the marathon
number 18 in Rome. not my number.
didn’t run but walked instead
to see the start

under blue skies and helicopters.
we were on the small hill near piazza Venezia
they ran right by us, twenty thousand of ‘em
no, i didn’t count, someone else said.

one runner was shocked to hear
voices in the crowd shout “die” as
he ran by the coliseum.
he thought they didn’t like Americans,

but these were Italians
they yelled not die, but dai,
equivalent to “go for it”
or “give it all you’ve got.”

sleeping or so then

sleeping or so then
sometime before three
caught myself dream weaving in and out
turnip trucks turn up as i meander

fast lanes, grocery lines, three apples
talking someone pleasant, bagger boy.
rolling in the sheet, passing hour,
then two more, still night

re-fluff the pillow ’nother time, now it’s right.
around four, passing minutes in fifteens
as i look now and then at the clock,
no stopping, it’s spinning on

then at five alive to morning
a lot of words and thought rush thinking,
am putting exactly this together
without note, nor music or computer

this stuff written down
on the backroad of my mind
takes jog maneuver, a bob and weave.
time for oat meal hot enough

brain sipping what i was dreaming of
recalling best i can, what’s fit to recall
writing , mostly awake now
yawning good day y’all to all, finally.