Monday, April 24, 2017


Of course the squirrels. Of course the birds. But even skunks and coyotes and fox eat crab apples. Our backyard is a veritable banquet table.

The crab apple
I know I mentioned
The crab apple yesterday.
It appears this time
Of year
In full bloom.
All the animals wait
For the apples
To appear.
Everyone eats
Crab apples,
Carries them
To places no one else
Can find them,
Secret stashes
Of apples

Sunday, April 23, 2017


Every change brings grief with it, whether the change is major or minor. Sometimes others detect and carry the grief before we do.

I find a place to sit
Maybe grieve for things
Others have shouldered
In my absence
Others have questioned
In my presence
How can you not
Be sad?
They say
Where have you stored it?
I wonder if the next time
Something happens
(And it surely will)
I will find that place
It has taken shelter.                                                                                                              
I will find that place
And it will come
Out of hiding.
Now I sit and watch
The crab apple bloom
Exercise my feet.
I figure
When it does
The grief will catch me

Saturday, April 22, 2017

The fountain

When we move, as we will, the fountain stays.

We bought this house
Years ago.
On the back patio
Is a fountain
A boy
A girl
They hold
An umbrella.
A cord ran
Through a crack
In the cement,
Ran through the basement
Was plugged in
Over the washing machine.
The cord was the first
To go.
The fountain
Has been a planter
For years.
The boy
The girl
The umbrella
They stand on different
Every year.
A garden
For bees and butterflies
Border that planter.

Thursday, April 20, 2017


Certain people do not have fingerprints. Me (for instance) or nurses or anyone who washes his her hands a lot.This was a new thing for me, though it seemed to be known to most nurses I ran into.

In the most recent vocation
I needed to turn in
My fingerprints
My fingerprints
Do not exist.
They had no contingency
For such a thing.
I thought to change my vocation
To bank robber
Except now
I can barely walk
Nor can I drive.
I would not be able
To get away.
Someone else
Would have
To drive
the get-away car.
I would most likely
Get the giggles
Picturing me
In the walker
Carrying a bag of money
Over my shoulder.
No fingerprints
Would be
The least of it.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017


One thirty. One twenty. Always a surprise.

We witness the children
Actually they launched
When they were born.
We saw it
The way
Most parents do.
Of course
We prefer
To be better
Than most parents.
Of course
We are not.
Maybe they see us
From the air
As they fly
Like hawks
Like goldfinches
Dipping and diving.
We witness.
We never quite know
What to expect

Monday, April 17, 2017

Tax time again

Dreams die hard.

Years ago
I found an ad
For a piece of land
With a creek.
It bordered
The bottom.
Eight acres
Mostly hillside
In Wisconsin.
We bought it.
Paid taxes
Every year.
Dreamed about a cabin
On the hill
Next to the creek.
We have been there
Exactly three times.
Eight acres
On a hill
Down the road
From the maximum security prison
In Boscobel.
We talk about it
When tax time
Comes around
Every year.
Write the check.
Talk about selling.
Then the dream
Comes around again.

Sunday, April 16, 2017


Dare I say I do not own a Kindle?

I admit
To the purchase
Of hardcover books
With the excuse
That I need them
For my professional life
Whichever life
Has rounded the bend
This morning
Or even
This year.

I admit
To not wanting to wait
For the paperback edition
With the excuse
That the author
Gets more royalties
If I purchase
The hardcover version.

I admit
It is four blocks
To the library
And the library
May never purchase
This book

I admit
I have no more space
On my bookshelves
For one more book

I admit
I have books
Never read
Stacked on the nightstand.

I admit.