In Memory

Cold feet in the sheets,

antsy boy with the shapely butt,

think about him sometimes.

Search out his names–he had four, right–in memory,

then type them in the blinking search bar.

Back then, afternoons were: polishing glass, folding whites.

Behind the oak bar; shaking, mulling, stirring, tasting. Straw sips, head bobs.

Sidewalk steaming, trash bag wreckage spilling totems

into the street. Taxi cabs blinking hazards late into the night,

when we clocked out, but hung around. Wine behind the corner,

so guests don’t see. Wait and hope maybe he’ll stay too.

James Rafael Anthony Marren. Brown eyes underlined

with freckles and my own gaze unable

to let him go. Where did his bird bone shoulders go

each night, close to dawn when we finally left, stumbling

into fresh air. He always walked the other way.

Civvy Street

This too, must pass,
too much a mantra for me.
Listening to Met Food music,
production tropes
shifting between the aisles.
Still, I think, this too, must pass.

Was it better before
when boredom was studded
with hiss,
my forehead flattened,
and, stamping,
I'd crank out the hit --
I want this to pass.

death by cellphone

back in the days of Marty McFly and Everett Brown
a future was envisioned
where we'd all talk to each other on tv screens
and then the future slowly came
and  it seemed like that idea had tried and failed

but then suddenly there was facetime
and it's ruined everything

the kids talk to their friends in class
indignant when I ask them to step out of the room to finish their call
I didn't ask you to hang up the phone
I just asked you to leave if you're going to use it

the next thing I say is 
lost in screams of AAAHAANAHAHNAAANAANAAH!
so I turn and walk over to the phone
another disengaged student removed from class
don't forget your hoverboard when you go

here lies education parent and mentor of empathy, respect, and accountability
brutally murdered by the latest technology
R.I.P.

All awash

In the morning
Your eyes drift to the watercolor I made 
Of your dad and me on the day we found out
You were growing inside me
Back then smaller than your grubby little toe is now.
How far I've come
your toothless grin seems to say.

QUICKFIXiPHONEPOEM

if this was the 70s
you wouldn’t worry about him
you wouldn't pin drop his heart
or track his profile
against the canyons
the cookie has quadrupled in calories
since the 1980s
we don’t’ use our crisper drawers
correctly
ingredient poems because
we don’t manage clutter
correctly
the tinsel purge is happening
the sequins make a skin