had coffee...
tapped my spoon on the table,
no sugar for me,
ate enough cookies this week.
gazed out the window
saw more parking spaces than usual,
and fewer birds; seems they all
flew home for the holidays..
gazed more... thought
of warm water swimming,
took just one last cookie
for dipping.


.

the olives can go in the refrigerator
is what she said to me
can they now? that got my attention,
i squinted at her

didn’t believe her, not then.
that was absolutely not true.
those olives can’t go anywhere,
watch them; even if they tried.

i know for a fact, no doubt about it.
take a load off, olives,
you can put the load right on me.
your going days are over.



.

such a beautiful Christmas tree
nearly twenty feet tall
in the neighbors front yard,
been watching it for years;
he's not using it anyway.
our ceiling at home reaches seven,
i only need some off the top.
i'll buy neighbor kids beer
have them cut the top at night
and deny involvement

forget the above. I remembered Gregory
Corso's beat generation poem about
learning to drive and
mowing friends down:
humor from another generation.
unkind doesn't work now
when we need to go easy,
we surly do.
we need kindness, even in humor.



.

practically Christmas
a few days to go
they say it will rain
how can they know?
staying home i'll sing in my head
White Christmas...
"may your days be merry and bright"
at night go to bed



.

shortest day of the year
can you feel it?



.

five days before christmas
a mexican food lunch
loosen up




.