One thing I would wish for anyone
I would wish for you
Is to start liking tacos
When you’re 57.
Cecil Vortex
Tying my shoes
There comes a time when
shoe-tying is
serious business.
High stakes.
Like, I’m starting to think
all my shoe-tying up till now
was just about
getting ready for
< bends >
< ties >
< upright >
like that.
Take off your glasses Dan
Take off your glasses Dan
let the trees blur
soft let the sound
cotton fluff let
the smell haze pulse
let your thoughts
melt like a plastic bag
you flicked with a lighter so
the words drop and
splash the ground take
your glasses off.
A friend’s recollection of 9/11
Post-it notes in the air.
Finding his way
from the east side, near Grand Central
to a friend’s place in Brooklyn
over the Manhattan Bridge
by foot.
Everyone was walking in the same direction.
No matter what sidewalk
Finding your rhythm
there are familiar patterns you can scratch at
to remind yourself
your feet are your feet.
You drag them along in new sneakers
no matter what sidewalk
you’re pounding
it’s still
those same toes.
Dad’s watch, again
I’m wearing dad’s
watch again to turn
my left arm into his left arm
to give him an easy way
to remind me
how time works and
that the world keeps turning, the face scratched
by him, by his dad, and now me.
The seconds in
some kind of rush who
the hell knows why.
A couple
surrounded by trees surrounded by
Pittsburgh ruins
that will be rebuilt
dressed
both in blue
with just enough quirk to their style
you know they put time and thought into it.
Waiting for the wedding photographer
and when you and your wife and daughter walk by
and you say:
“you are the best-dressed muggers I’ve ever seen.”
the guy says:
“That’s so nice. Give me your wallet.”
Your arm
A were-child
a little were-girl with ponytails and
a bike with a basket and bell
can eat her own weight in about
an hour. Which doesn’t
sound like much but you know
that’s more than your arm, your leg,
your head.
A case
Is there a case to be made
a first affirmative delivered in defense
of collating those second-rate thoughts
you might not see again (or even miss)?
Shake them out of your hands, those
drops of borrowed blue electric ink
to make room in the sides of your fingers
for some top-notch scribble sent down
like a message
in a lunchbox on string
you once lowered through a bannister
to rest on the carpet down below
just in case
someone curious walked by.
A beep
A beep from the phone
a text from someone and
why not let it sit? Perhaps it wants to sit.
Maybe it will
ferment or blossom decay
or dissolve
into a small pinch of
dirt in your slacks
given
enough time
a little time
time to rest and
some loving lack
of attention.