April 10

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 10

CUP HOLDER

(Maundy Thursday)


Your scandalous infamous “drink my blood”

befuddled those who followed at a distance,

but these at the table, these you had laughed with,

and slept with, sometimes in the middle of the desert

under star-blanket or inclement weather,

these ones who’d heard you explaining the riddles,

these, who you now told be sure to remember

this moment, remember it after the chaos

and into years later, when they’d have grown older

and facing their dark nights: remember the bread,

remember the cup, remember the death

of the cryptic cup holder.


April 9

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 9

KEY FOB


You know I can press your buttons.

After fifty years of marriage,

that’s something we know something about.

A soul-mate’s soul is a map on display,

and shows the way in and shows the way out.

With a click and a chirp I can unlock your laughter

even after I’ve driven you crazy.

Maybe that’s the magic of time.

Because I can be across the room

and see what you need before you do,

and open the door you are coming to.

Just the same I can be unkind,

lock you out in favor of me.

Just because I have a key

doesn't mean I always use it.

But know this, darling, I would be lost

if ever I happen to lose it.



April 8

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 8

EMERGENCY BRAKE

The therapist insisted

he always had a choice.

Whenever the rage

would threaten to rise

past the raised voice

to the breaking of the vase,

the violent slapping her face,

he could learn to brake

before the wild beast was released,

say not today, and turn,

and walk away.

April 7

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 7

BLINKER


I could tell she had a tell

when she looked at her cards

and then over at me—

an ever so slightly slower

blink than her regular ten

per minute for the dust

and irritants of everyday life.

When she signaled to raise the bet I knew

for sure that she was bluffing.

All her stone-faced swagger and show

about to come to nothing.


April 6

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 6

GLOVE COMPARTMENT


I once used a common fork as a comb,

a book as a hot pad, a chair for a ladder,

my pants for a napkin, a wide plastic bin lid

as a makeshift umbrella, sweetened a rat trap

with a glob of Nutella, my coat as a pillow,

a tarp for a raincoat, a knife from my kitchen

drawer to tighten a screw.

Over and over the saying proves true:

necessity is the mother of invention,

as we use something in a way meant for another:

cotton swabs for ear plugs, newspaper for killing bugs,

the little compartment beside the front console

that’s crammed with a whole lot of everything but gloves.


April 5

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 5

MUFFLER


i.

His father ignored him. His mother, bored,

always talked at him. He never once won

the first grade reward for excellent conduct.

The teens at the cool table mercilessly teased

his high-pitched voice so late in the changing.

Librarians shooshed him. And so did the patrons

watching the previews in the mall movie theater.


ii.

His girlfriend habitually finishes his sentences.

He winces repeatedly at his own inner censor

before there is even a word on his tongue.

He recently learned the trick of side-sleeping

to insure when he nods off he doesn’t start to snore,

while deep in his dreams he’s a lion on the cliff’s edge,

mane in the wind, the whole world hearing him roar.


April 4

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 4

SPARE TIRE

I am so tired of your constant questioning

the same thing over and over again,

wheels spinning like a somersault jokester,

a ballerina dancer with much too much stage.

You refuse to wager on the smallest bit of traction.

Are you serious in your quest for actual answers,

or is your entire satisfaction

the (pathetic) aesthetic of looking the seeker

without really caring about where you’re headed?


April 3

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 3

CARBURETOR


Whenever our paths happen

to cross by chance, my heart

starts in a quick stutter,

ineluctably revving up

like a stock car engine.

She is air, a whole sky of it,

mixing with a precision fuel in me

that burns under a run-away throttle,

sending me scurrying,

head in a whirl-spin, legs in a wobble.



April 2

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 2

WINDSHIELD

I think that I see you clearly

marooned in a huddle

beside the road,

cocooned in a dirty overcoat

with its edge in a puddle,

breath blasts in the frosty air

telegraphing what life is still there,

the little that I can see from where

I sit in my Aniline leather seat

awash in the wrap of the heater’s blast

and the reflecting prism of the shatterproof glass.

April 1

National Poetry Month’s Poem-A-Day 30-Day Challenge: Day 1

CAR

In the earliest days,

drawn to the far plum mountains

comely with snow,

we crossed the lonely fields on patient feet

and stubborn will. Little did we know

how over time the trek would shorten so,

first by horses brought by the Spanish.

Then wagons. Riverboats. Trains. And at last this—

needle near eighty on a road straight and narrow,

radio blaring in my Chevy Camaro.