At the beer distributor, a sweet lady
with long grey hair and a flannel shirt
tends the register.
She could be a librarian except
for the nudie calendar
hanging near the counter
and the twinkling look she gives
as if she knows you’re up to no good.
Her cage is filled with candy
and a small tv. She smiles and always
has a kind word.
There’s a poster on her bathroom door
of a chick with huge knockers.
It looks like she’s juggling watermelons
inside her tank top.
Maneuvering through stacks of beer cases
makes me feel like Indiana Jones
looking for the ark in a crypt
except there are no snakes, only beef jerky
and I’m looking for a craft beer for the husband and not a direct link to God.
I give exact change
and she gives me insight
into the local traffic,
which has picked up due to the detour;
I saw two redneck monster trucks,
one motorcycle, four suvs,
and three Amish buggies.
The bell on the door as I exit
finishes my thoughts.

Long legs folded in wrinkled gabardine
confused by a longing
for steamed rolls on a train.
Remembering mimosas by the waterfront.
Remembering the glint of water in her eye.
Remembering ribbons of light through blinds.
The days of smart youth
when we were shiny and tightly packed;
we are looser now, with softer creases.

white plains
level planes
white noise
rushing veins
the toys we play with
when urges become too great
to express beyond a biting
snarling exchange
of unnecessary pleasantries
a twisting of extremities
willing to stay
in white space
moving back
white lines
fallen slack

A year ago, it was all bananas
and he called me Pandora
because my box
still held mystery.
An amazing grace
comprised of glazed
nuts and ribald banter
made for a perfect day
– and I relive it over and over
in hopes of achieving
full enlightened monty.
New angles and dangling bits
grow longer with late day
shadows. I am a shadow.

Trench-coat
broad, absent-minded
trembling tenor,
an aftertaste of swiss on rye.
Cut across the back
stippled in shade
– shhh, it’ll fade,
atop a green hill
in ever-present sun.
Hidden in
forced nostalgia
with a side of
saddle shoes and fries.
Wailing window
speeding to the tune
of good ol’ daddios
replete with backup dancers
and a cigarette left to burn.
Trouble
in the form of
thrown slippers knocking breath
against teeth, a reckoning.