POETRY
SALEM
Featured on Hawaii Pacific Review
Literary Journal of Hawaii Pacific University
In the dining room
of the Holiday Inn,
Salem, Massachusetts,
Dad has just ordered
a third vodka martini.
Pretty soon
the yelling will start.
Pretty soon
Mom will escape
to our room,
lamb chop untouched,
slam the bathroom door,
throw a Gideon Bible,
weep that I am
the only good thing
to come out
of their marriage.
Dad will head
to the bar,
get into a
fight about
politics or God,
collapse in the hall
lips laced with vomit.
The next day
we will visit
the chotchke shops,
hear tales of
witches and goblins.
Mom will buy me
an overpriced
Ice cream cone.
Dad will search in vain
for a bar.
No one will
speak of what
happened although
the tension is
heavier than the
rocks on
Giles Corey’s chest.
I promise myself
when I grow up
I will never
go on vacation.
Back Then
Featured on The Bluebird Word
Back then
after January’s first wallop
I would venture out,
camera clutched
like a family heirloom,
to capture the drifts,
the overwhelmed shrubs,
the laden branches,
bending under the weight
of the watery white powder.
Back then
the cold didn’t
press on my heart,
tear at my cheeks.
I was one
with the silence
of the snow filled streets
certain that morning was
more beautiful than any
that had come before.
Now
I sit on a Florida patio
watching the waves
lap the sand
pull on a sweater
it’s barely 65.
Now
I walk the beach
one mile in each direction
imagine swimming to Portugal
then clean my toes
of sand and muck
before I head back
for lunch,
a nap,
and a half-hearted attempt
to put pen to paper
before the evening news.
Nyack 1968
Featured on The Marbled Sigh
We went to visit
my mother’s cousin Bonnie
and her husband Ned.
They took us out
on their boat.
Even let Dad
take the wheel.
Ned told us that
the country was fucked,
that most people were lazy,
that he wanted to move north,
but couldn’t get a transfer
to the Syracuse office.
And how the hell
could we stay in the city
filled with animals
who should all be shot?
My dad kept nodding,
downing Buds,
as the sky darkened,
like it was painted by Cole.
As Bonnie was putting out
the roast beef,
I heard her whisper,
I want to leave him,
but I’m afraid he’ll murder me.
When my father asked
for another beer,
Ned snarled,
You’re an embarrassment
to your wife and son.
I’d like to punch your face in.
It was dark by the time
we started home.
My dad was sprawled
in the back.
Me, in the death seat.
Ned’s right, mom murmured to herself,
her eyes locked onto to the
endless white line.
I just hope he
doesn’t hurt Bonnie.
As drops started to
fleck the windshield,
she hit the blinkers,
and began to turn.
Love on the Steinway Platform
Featured on Abandoned Mine
Spotted her
highlighted hair tight in a bun
black cotton dress
simple white sneakers
so f’in cool.
Wanted to say Good morning
the lump in my throat
bigger than a grapefruit.
Pretended to read the NY Times
fascinating story on beach erosion.
She texted all the way to 57th Street
so many boyfriends
so little time
missed my stop
ended up with the delinquents at Times Square.
Jostled by a twenty something
combat boots and overloaded back pack
he’d have a chance with her
mister young and rippling
so f’in cool.
I imagine she’s picking up
her iced Macchiato
ordered on the app
five more points toward
a free chocolate croissant.
Every morning I check
my Aries
hoping to read
You will soon find love.
Black coffee,
a bowl of Wheaties,
staring out at the cloud-laden morning,
imagining the face, the smile, the kiss.
Monday becomes Friday.
October becomes May.
What good is a horoscope
if it doesn’t provide hope?
I turn to the sports section.
Mets defeat Cubs in 10.
I will meet her at
the game.
SPOOKY DAY
Featured on Mistake House
I usually wore something
my mother found.
A cowboy hat
and boots.
A white coat
and surgical mask.
Money never flowed easily,
especially for frivolities
like Halloween.
Still, I made the rounds,
with my friend Mark
and his little brother,
plus whoever happened by.
Only eat wrapped candy,
my mother warned,
sounding like the wicked witch.
Throw away that apple.
It surely has a pin in it.
A spooky day,
not only for the ghosts,
but also for the murderers
living on our block.
I had outgrown
trick or treating
by the time
kids started creaming up cars
and firing eggs at our windows.
Make sure you’re home
from school by dark,
my mother warned.
These troublemakers have knives.
Yet, I wouldn’t have minded
going out one more time,
with Jenny from my class,
dressed as Frankenstein and his bride.
Every so often a pair
comes to my door.
One in a ballet costume,
the other in a hockey mask.
Is he Jason,
or does he play for the Rangers?
The moms stand nearby,
making sure I haven’t
slipped a razor into a red delicious.
All my candy is ethically sourced,
I tell them.
They nod approvingly,
knowing that we are of one mind
on all the moral issues.
I watch them toddle on
to my neighbor’s house.
She has dementia,
and her caregiver will not answer.
The sun is setting.
Another spooky day is almost done.
But I still keep the door locked,
just in case.