WHAT A SURPRISE
What a surprise to see you
as I was getting off work.
You stopped by, you said,
for a cup of coffee.
I smiled as the words
escaped your lips,
both of us laughing at this,
both knowing it for
the ruse it was.
As you followed me home
so I could change
did you happen to see my smile
in the side mirror?
I was hard pressed to keep it
on my face.
It lit up my car like a tiny sun,
bounced 'round and 'round
from ceiling to floor,
tried to unlock the windows
and the doors.
Said, it wanted to ride
in your car.
SPRING SHOWER
Sometimes I just get these ideas.
They plop into my head like raindrops
suddenly falling from the sky.
Plop, plop, plop.
I gather them up, and if I'm lucky,
they fill the bucket of a poem.
SPELL-CHECK
My body is no longer the flawless manuscript
most men would take time out of their busy day
to read, no longer as exciting as the latest novel,
nor as interesting as the daily news.
There was a time, when everything was capitalized
in all the right places, the i's were dotted and
there were no uncrossed t's.
Everything was worded right.
Sentences had the appropriate emphasis and titles
fit me perfectly.
Now, I am more like the comics, and even some
of them aren't funny but rather tragic.
I was beginning to think I was of no more use
than a rolled up newspaper used to swat flies.
But then you found me.
You read the manuscript, overlooking the flaws.
There is no need for spell-check, you accept me
as I am.
My words come off your lips in the form of poetry,
and in your eyes I am the sonnet I had always
hoped to be.
IN THE PHOTO
In the photo my mother is beautiful.
Though it is in black and white, I picture
her cheeks rosy as pink Chablis.
Her hair cascades think and wavy to meet
the soft slant of her shoulders, covered demurely
in a dark dress I imagine, a shade of red.
She is smiling coyly for the camera, as if she is
the keeper of some secret, about to spring a surprise.
The couch she sits on is smattered with clusters
of tiny white blossoms.
Behind her the wallpaper is enmeshed in huge
green leaves pointing skyward; between each two
leaves is a single white flower.
The floor's linoleum is a characteristic 1950's
pattern of multicolored and sized diagonal stripes.
In the photo my mother is a constant, in surroundings
I can only describe as busy, and so she has been for
most of her life.
The photo was taken after mine and my older sister's
birth, before those of our siblings.
It was long before school days, dating, marriages,
children, divorces, grandchildren and all forms of
crisis imagined or real which have transformed her
once vibrant brown hair to gray, strand by strand.
Long before wrinkles claimed her face, Arthritis
wreaked havoc on her joints, Osteoporosis settled
in her bones.
In the photo my mother is beautiful.
She is poor but happy, innocent and trusting,
hinging on a promise, glimmering with love.