Roadkill

Young rabbit
displaced & terrified

I watch him from my window
driver’s side
the light is green
but the car before me
hesitates…
brake lights

in the middle of the avenue
back & forth
a nervous dance
across the painted double yellow line
dividing life & death

I know it’s coming
and I cannot look away

he chooses the wrong direction
timing’s not quite right
he makes it past the first
oncoming car
but the second
stops him dead in his tracks
as it were

flattened by the front left tire
his insides turned out
a pink starburst contrasts
his light brown fur
and white cottontail
now still

my foot leaves the brake
slowly accelerates
life goes on
and I drive on
to the library
to return overdue movies
to the liquor store
for a case of beer
and on home
to finish out the day

Hammering Clamor

Hammering clamor
downtown din
grit, guts & glamour
soaked in gin

stammering blandness
balled up fists
gall, guff & grandness
clumsy kids

sandpaper sunburn
lemon juice
we all have a turn
finger bruise

blindly beleaguered
tampered with
mundane & meager
stunted pith

hammering clamor
haunted hum
grit, guts & glamour
zero sum

Word Association

Monday,
sober.
Five o’clock,
hungry.
Long day,
eyestrain.
Computer,
crashes.
Another bill,
fuck that.
Salad,
dressing.
My kids,
miss them.
Maple tree,
cut down.
Powdered alcohol,
no thanks.
Facebook,
like me.
Drive home,
can’t wait.
Dinner,
wonder.
Mad Men,
tonight.
Don Draper,
that whore.
Game of Thrones,
not caught up.
Poem,
about what.

Desert Island Albums

If you don’t like
my aforementioned perfect snapshot
I’ll write a new one
just for you

one with vibrancy,
immediacy,
sans inner turmoil
(I don’t like it
when you cry)

let’s craft a hot air balloon,
color red
and perfectly simple,
travel to an island
undiscovered
undisclosed

but we’d have to agree on what music to bring

Could Be the Coffee

I’m feeling anxious
this morning
I feel it in my chest
& deep down in my gut

could be the coffee
or something else entirely
it’s hard to shake
this handshake

it’s Easter with in-laws
the girls are hiding
plastic eggs for the kids
color coded
so less than, more than
aren’t an issue

they crack them open
find candy & coins
a dollar bill

and I’m distracted
I want to crack myself open
& see what’s inside

what’s making me tick
& what’s making me sick
why I’m broken
in need of a fix

maybe it’s the coffee
yeah…
but this feeling’s hard to shake

Survival of the Selfie

We are prepared for the wrong things
board meetings
and tall lattes
coming in on Saturday
late and hungover on Monday
unsolicited sex night Friday
overeating on holidays
trips to target on weekends
time to buy more cat food
we’re out of toilet paper again
we need peanut butter
can you pick up more diapers
I need my prescriptions refilled
we wouldn’t last two seconds
when the shit hits the fan
when the dead start to walk
when the banks all collapse
when we run lawless in streets
when it’s free for all
when it’s all for none
we wouldn’t make it a day
when it all starts to change
before we burn and we drown
we’d kill each other first
with our bare hands
with our last words
we are not prepared
for giving things up
trivial things
meaningless things
we are not prepared
for bare essentials
for living humbly
for putting others first
fuck being fit
it’s survival of the selfie
when everybody’s gone
we’ll be too busy taking pictures
tweeting out our dying breaths
just so long as there’s one more left
to read our final status update
to know we really cared