Childhood
I know of a place.
A place where the wind
breathes The Beach Boy’s
Kokomo.
Where jet-black storm
clouds threaten
the horizon.
But never rain.
Where the aroma of
wet alfalfa clings to
nostrils.
Where a dozen
Collie puppies bark
pure
happiness.
Where kids leap from
car bumper to hoop rim
and get yelled at.
Again.
Where dad stumbles home
at sunrise and
it’s Wednesday morning.
Again.
Dear John
You are the one on the far left.
You are the one sitting lower than the others.
You look completely alone.
And not for that reason do I always choose you.
You are always the cleanest one.
Because the man-code says you can’t be used,
only if you’re the only open one.
But today, you have two strands of pubic hair
on your bottom lip.
Someone has chosen you today too and
I have a tinge of jealousy.
Why do I feel this way?
Because I thought we had something.
Something special.
A relationship set in stone-
I mean porcelain.
Every morning I looked forward
to giving you my stream of golden dawn.
Now that is gone.
Now I will stand as far away from you
as urinally possible.