Love Poem Too Late
In the dream creaks a dungeon. I'm there
with a hole in my pants.
Enough to be a sinner.
Crabgrass pries the flagstones apart.
Sweet William Flycatcher's at the window.
Time to learn to dance.
I dance awake and there you are,
wearing brave new panties,
silk too fine to violate.
No longer lovers, but we share a bed,
so I'll tell you my dream.
What of those menstrual flowers?
What of the dim lacings
of death between us,
thin and final as your underwear?
Old jailbirds mated,
we'll wake in dungeons every day
and cry "There's been a mistake!"
You're still asleep, even as this poem
crosses the border into print
and I step out free among
the dewy vegetables;
and you, drowsy as August maples,
linger like a toothache
I've learned to love to ignore.
Glen Cove Day School
A siege of daisies wilted
in the fog. Glen Cove's lone buoy
winked to lure us onto the rocks,
but we were hard on each other,
we bled on the polished floors,
lonely without a mess of children.
Your two weren't enough; they lobbed
spitballs into the damp rooms
but failed to rouse their elders.
Fog grayed the space between us,
our voices whetted through cotton.
Outside, I picked one daisy while
you roped your kids into the car.
White petals, heart of fool's gold.
I shredded it for a single lie.
Love couldn't penetrate that fog,
no more than an air hammer
would suffice to murder a ghost.
His work has appeared in various e and print journals and in several collections, most recently City of Palms (AA Press, 2012).