Archive for November, 2007

Catch the small pink bird
And hold it to your ear
Listen to it softly hum

Rose is the new pink
The judge’s knee
Is an ejection seat

A bicycle flying machine
Billowing white cotton wing

Swoops over from the field and
Lands in the front yard
On your blanket

Your name is Integro.
Your scheme is to kill the queen
With a tiny a paper cutter
When she is asleep.
The moment arrives
You lose your nerve
And curse your lack of resolve.
Later, however, you realize,
It was a dumb idea anyway, Integro.

Tension at the bridal shop:
Your wife believes her rose petal gown is too long
And should be hemmed above the knee
But the designer won’t budge.
It doesn’t occur to you to wonder who
Your wife is getting married to.
Could it be her friend T,
Who has taken to wearing too-short skirts
And no underwear
As the two of them cruise into the yoga studio
In the suburban strip mall?

You wake and wonder what bride
Would wear a rose-colored wedding dress
Then you remember that your mother
Married your stepfather in a dress of that hue.
It had a really cool iridescent metal chain belt
That you wore on Halloween.

Did you pack up the white leather western saddle?
It belonged to cowgirl Dale Evans,
Wife of cowboy Roy Rogers,
An e-Bay item if ever there was one.
And how about that teenage girl
Who wrote the bestseller about teenage boys?
Your Japanese roommate accuses you
Of having inappropriate feelings
For your pet canary,
But you’re too busy writing
A book about communication
To play basketball with the neighbors.

Do you know the way the light fades
Behind the train trestle at the end of November?
How it hangs white over the creek before it’s gone?
Tell me why that sky makes me so sad.