Bambi

Bambi, your mother is dead.

The hunter didn't kill her

But the Japanese did.

Crossing the street at Center and 9th,

That little Toyota Camry

Bent her legs up over her head.

She lay there in that man made bed,

Kicking, and twisting the cold sheets.

Until finally she was bled.

Stand Back

They all go, but I came home.

Their encouraging words accompanied by a smile

Turned to pointing fingers and hesitant hellos.

In this mess caused by my premature

Appearance and marred by what ifs,

Lies a crowd of unmet expectations

Here my heart resides but cannot rise.

So stand back a foot or two,

I wouldn't want to stain

Your crisp white shirts

With my tears of

Ineptitude.

A Flake

The January wind cracked
Spreading the crystallized air through
Bare
Deciduous trees and empty playgrounds

High above
Condensed vapors cling
Before they fall
Like a thousand angels
Fighting
An expired war

Far below
Shuddering branches whisper
To a tattooed
Playground tube
Here comes our blanket

Painted Seagulls for William Slater

A twinkle in my eye
passed from the past
when dreams were ideal and a meal was peeled.
This interwoven thread called my past is not yet past.
The twinkle remains and
so do I.

All The Right Signs

Movie night.
Approximately 2ft. 1inch of couch separate her from me. To compliment and add to the space, two distinct and unique blankets, made by her grandmother, individually cover her and me. Her legs are crossed; The right over the left, facing away from me. My legs are also crossed, mirroring her cross. Her hands fold nicely, one upon the other, resting in her lap. A fold so nice and comfortable looking it seems to say, no room for another. So I keep my hands in my own lap. She turns to say something. I turn to meet her gaze. As I turn I lean........back 8 inches, increasing the distance to 2ft. 9 inches. Back to the movie; Back to 2ft. 1 inch.
The movie ends.
She stands and walks to a book shelf. I stand as well. We talk about books. We sit down again. This time 4ft. and a coffee table separate us. Polite conversation resumes. That was a great movie. I love Indian food. I should take you home. Okay.
The car pulls into the driveway. Thank you. You're welcome. No hug tonight. Last time there was a hug. I open the door and step out. Good night. Good night. I close the door. She drives away.
I can't help but think I missed a sign.

A Look In Your Eyes

Looking into your eyes melts my resolve like,
a glistening piece of Spam.
Spam the reject of all...... Hero of none.
Those pieces of cow-
pig, dog, horse, maybe even rat.
smashed, bashed, thrice diced, liquefied, and congealed.
That pinkish, chunky cube, and the way it resists leaving the can.
You can't say no to Spam.
The slurping of victory as Gravity prevails- and the Spam slips from that tiny, tin can. Gravity always prevails.
Fried Spam, Boiled Spam, Oven Roasted Spam, Honey-Glazed Spam, Curried Spam, Pickled Spam, and just plain old Spam from the can.
Yes, Spam...
Hero of none, rejected by more than some.
Nothing like a nice, big, juicy piece of Spam

Light The Way

I close my eyes. Close your eyes too.
I can see it again.
Someone this close is not supposed to be like that.
Trust? How?
Tau lotu, you can pray too. It might help.
Light my sky, like mana fetu'u. Light it like it should be.
Maybe this is why. Every damn time.
I close my eyes, hoping to see a way.
fie'ilo. fie'ilo. fie'ilo.
Close your eyes, help me find the way.