Poem for My Mother's Tall, Skinny Friend

Poem for My Mother's Tall, Skinny Friend

O, why am I befriended by

arm-waving women,

those large-busted ladies

on decorating committees?

Why must I be accessory

to women in polka-dot dresses,

with armadillo purses, and voices

urgent as downshifting trucks?

Me, the power pole, the flag pole,

keeping the current flowing,

and banners in reach of a breeze.

Them, the stars, stripes, and megawatts.

Well, pity us when the lines go down,

the wind gone.

Who Do You Watch from Your Car?

Who Do You Watch from Your Car?

Summer Saturdays Alice's spouse

parks in the shade facing Safeway.

He shops and she watches

 mothers load junk food

 into their trunks,

while children hang on the carts,

 shoving each other.

"Not my problem," she says

rubbing useless legs.  "What can I do?"

she asks the windshield wipers.

I, too, watch  from my car.

One unpredictable day

while watching a regatta,

I saw a lady sailor

keeling into gray, choppy waves.

I stepped out of my car and called,

"Your boat's no home.  

You lean too far.

You are alone."

Of course, she couldn't hear me.

Who do you watch from your car?

Quoting Dame Edith Sitwell

"In conclusion, he condensed them all for madmen, fools, idiots, asses, O stulti, quaenam haecc est amenti?  O fools, O madmen! he exclaims, insane studia, insane, labores, etc., mad endeavours, mad actions, mad, mad, mad, O seculum insipiens et infacetum, a giddy-headed age."

the last sentence in "The God of This World," English Eccentrics

Good Quote: friends

"... a study of nearly 3,000 nurses with breast cancer found that women without close friends were four times as likely to die from the disease as women with 10 or more friends.  And notably proximity and the amount of contact with a friend wasn't associated with survival.  Just having friends was protective."

New York Times 4/21/09  

Tinnitus

Tinnitus

The audiologist said I should watch

a video that begins with a man, 

probably a plumber, in my predicament.

He says, "It's like pipes hissing in my head."

I said, "It's like rattlesnakes in dry grass."

The diagnoses for both of us

was the same cruel curse, "Live with it."

The sound in my head is a message.

Remember how they tied Odysseus

to the mast, but plugged the ears of those

not strong enough to listen to the truth?

I'm not either.

This slightly sinister sound protects me 

from my own grim thoughts.

Is Something Better Than Nothing?

it's about the habit of writing...

The "Rue" in Ruin

The "Rue" in Ruin

Some like ruins...

death of the maiden

moss-covered walls

vines thick as snakes...

Remember the Victorian

concept of the ruined woman,

hymen broken,

girl no damn good?

We still whisper,

"Have you seen her face?"

"Ruined," we nod,

by drink, drugs, sun,

bad plastic surgery.

The other day I read

about a procedure

that restores rent hymens,

creates faux virgins.

We know the futility

of restorative  surgery.

The impression of a mean man

never goes away.