Lazy dogged days,
sleeping past the
sun's brutal rays
and my son's insistent
yelling into his computer headset.
"Hey, Parker. Hey, Parker,
can you hear me?"
I can hear him,
even under his
beehive droning whine
"What can I do?"
Don't tempt me kid,
I have a laundry list
of nagging chores like
that pile of pool-soggy
boxer briefs you
hung up on the bathroom floor.
Toast for breakfast, burnt
like my bare thighs
on my leather cookie sheet
When we run out of bread
Out of rhythm, still slightly foggy
and Pavlov-ed to a school bell
I swim in sleep past eight
groggy for being up late
as I revert to a night owl
chasing a drunken muse or
catching 40 blinks of a Netflix show.
The days lie long
across the hot cement
trip me up in their
Begging to be filled
with shoes and beach bags,
tents and forts,
and hot, wilted lines
waiting for a thrill ride
or just to be inside
a cold minute.
A time to cheer
when the school calendar
and life goes back
to scheduled chaos again.
My Dearest Fear
Me and my shadow lover,
Demon-wraith of my brain.
Rewired like solid limbs.
Sinewy, like stale red vines
Stolen from my son’s
Binging for both he and me
As he winds shadow chains
I like it, even crave it.
The chain linked worries
I’ve forged like Scrooge’s
Spectral miserly train.
There’s one about money
empty and sharp like the knifed-pain
in the belly I massage when
one Target purchase at a time.
Another’s bent-backed in an S-chain
looking at its feet in defeat.
Her name’s self-doubt,
hunched away from her “dear” friend
who coos well-meant kindnesses
like voodoo needles on how to fix
my hair so i can care to fit in somewhere.
“It’s okay, you only need me,”
My lover hisses wet inside my ear.
“I’m here to be your own personal fear.”
Wrapped tight like a mummy bag
Cozy because I’ve worked it
to fit my frame.
Stretching and rubbing the fabric of my mind
till I can bury myself deep and nest.
Or fester, happily interred,
Undisturbed and alone,
With myself and him.
The manifested darkness within
Who promises to never leave me.
Bus Stop Moms
It sunny, its hot, yes, I see that it rained
Like drops of small talk
That stick to me, vocal humidity
We compare calories
And size each other up
Putting each other in invisible boxes
smart, pretty, athletic, and lazy
Our common ground is kid-talk
The whine about whining
Or wine-ing to numb it away
An awkward pause stands between us
The stranger needling us to talk
To fill chasms of empty space
As we await rescue from our kids
The acquainted strangers I see everyday
Just a paper-doll mom
Cardboard thin because we don’t let anyone in
I blame me too
A closed-door face behind examination eyes
I lack the words so I let silence speak
I am an iceberg mom
Cold, sharp, and best avoided
Idle chat crashes against me
And drowns under my deeper thoughts.
A Mom’s Plea to Her Son: Please Aim When You Pee
Little boy, little boy its shaped like a hose,
So why don’t you control where the stinking pee goes?
I’m tired of the stink, I have to complain.
Please little boy why can’t you fricking aim.
You’ve sprinkled the walls, the sink, the floor
Son of mine, mom can’t take anymore.
There’s a yellowish dribble stuck to the side.
Why can’t you just aim it and pee-pee inside?
And please don’t leave the damn toilet seat up
So I don’t feel like I’ve sat my ass in a cup
And don’t pee on the seat, it’s not very fun
To have someone else’s warm pee stuck to your buns.
So please hold your penis, I know you are tight
I see you with your hand down your pants day and night.
What if mom...
What if mom forgot to turn off the lights?
Pick up your shoes and referee fights.
What if she never washed another dish?
Didn't do the laundry or feed your fish.
What if mom didn't make you a snack?
Didn't remind you to take your backpack.
What if she never picked up your clothes?
Or wrappers, socks, and misplaced Legos.
What if mom never read to you in bed?
Didn't kiss ouchies or cheeks or foreheads.
What if instead she slept in till eight?
Waited until she was refreshed and awake.
What if she relaxed and read a good book?
Or watched T.V. while someone else cooked.
What if mom never nagged you as well?
Let the house get dirty and start to smell.
Or what if instead you worked as a team?
Maybe mom would be less stressed and mean.
See moms want to play and have lots of fun.
But she can't if her work's never done.
Oil and water in a diet coke bottle
pretty droplets of red food coloring
bouncing through each other's viscous membrane.
Like my son and I we push against each other
But don't mix this morning.
He needs all of me and so do I.
He stirs and shakes and tries to meld me to him
But I resist, needing to melt in my own mind
A pretty power play that sits doing nothing in a bottle.
It's my birthday today.
Yes, I'm getting older.
My hair is greying,
my mind is fraying,
my ass looks like two sagging boulders.
But its my birthday today,
and I'm still breathing fire,
my tapping feet still dance
I've got a fine romance.
So watch out world is what I say.
Age is just a number,
and I'm more than a sum of my years!
Heat nuzzles the insides of my knees
like an unwanted advance,
I kick him off,
"Put on your pants".
Not in the mood for sweaty nights,
as Sleep sadistically watches me writhe
her somnambulist potion
she teases and deprives.
A sticky, sopping trail
Heat runs tongues down my front and back
my night-shirt clings to sweaty breasts
his saliva puddles in my crack.
"Go, leave, get off", I kick him away
Aiming the fan at my skin
But his hot mouth asphyxiates my words
As I open wide, he dives right in.
I'm prisoner to my Summer lover,
he won't let go till Fall comes back.
He pins me to damp sheets and laughs,
as Sleep just watches his attack.
Once Upon Whose Time?
Once Upon a Time
A young mother died
An orphan princess cried
The noble prince's bride
His jealous step- mother tried
Grimm's murdered a mother's side
Of the fairytale.
Time to pay the crime!
Who controls my life?
I gave you the key,
the power over me.
Needing a like,
a part of me
on my submission,
To your acknowledgement.
On my accomplishment.
I'm addicted to praise,
a social media craze.
I'm not enough anymore,
an online whore.
Or maybe I never was.
The insecure child
who aimed to gratify,
now grown up,
needing a praise high.
Because she's nothing
if she's not seen,
invisible and stuck between,
who she is and who she wants to be.