Come On

(For Todd Colby and Jennifer Lazo.)

Mostly a person who walked around with a smile plastered on her face would be assumed to have something wrong with her.  Except maybe Carol Channing.  Even so.

In my town, certain people have obtained orange vests for the purpose of staying safe at intersections when they are begging.  This is cheaper than feeding, clothing, or housing them.  It has the added benefit of making them feel conspicuous.  Some of us are men and some of us are women.  Sometimes we are metal or diamonds.  We are all people.  Hungry and wanting.  The more "cheeky" among us sometimes forget this.

I no longer have favorites.  Desire and delight and fatigue fade in and out like a scrim at a play your mother took you to.  What is being hidden and what revealed is something I could ask myself.  Two things I could ask.    

My small son wakes up and walks to the living room to sit in a box, saying, "All aboard."  Calling after his father in the morning, he says, "Be safe.  Don't be upset."  He stops in the middle of breastfeeding to stick out his hand and say, "Nice to see you." 

A Wolf in Clothing

(a collaborative poem with Todd Colby) 

Certain things will cheer you up:
Holding a pencil between your teeth 
to make a sort of grimace, breathing
cool air through your nostrils, or simply

sitting down when everyone around you
is standing up. I've been practicing austerity 
but there are things I might want later
like a knife fight with a Boy Scout
or maybe a simple dinner with someone
named Virna in Uruguay. I'm multitasking 
as I write this, eating crackers and crying a little.
I'm pretty sure this house is haunted. At least
I have that comfort. At least this headless snowman
leaning toward me in early March tells me 
Florida seems like a pretty awesome place to live,
mostly because of NASA.  Florida is so Florida,
but then so is every other place.