“Shhhhhh...You’ll Wake The Baby!”

I re-acquired a sweet

Long forgotten moment

From the past

While moving a twelve foot step ladder

Echoing across an empty concrete floor

In the main space of a vacant 9,000 square foot warehouse

Built in 1940

As a taxi depot...

Later 

To become the dispatch

For a Trenton brand

White bread baking company.

I dragged that step ladder

Across the floor

Making a terrific noise 

In the building’s emptiness

On March 8th, 2012

While painfully scraping 

20+ foot high brick walls 

Of their failing paint 

Off of moist damp brick clay 

With a flat head shovel

To be repainted

For a prospective new tenant.

Out of nowhere

The memory came...

35 years later

From when I helped my father and grandfather

Both

Union carpenters by trade

Working on the side

On their days off.

Building additions

Putting on roofs

Laying foundations

Hammering sheetrock.

I would hand up the nails

Tools

Or climb the ladder 

With an electrical cord... 

And if I made any loud sound at all

Besides a hammer

The two of them would hush

In unison

“Shhhhhhh....You’ll wake the baby!”

And with a simple drag

Of an aluminum step ladder

I just woke the baby up...

Nude Beach

I’m a perv.

So it’s amusing

To observe how other

Pervs conduct themselves

At a clothing optional beach

Where a good 

90%

Of the people

Go for 

Optional.

Most of the people

Are respectful

Enjoying their freedom

To be naked.

But even

In this large crowd

The pervs are easy to spot.

Like the guy

Four blankets away

That decided to wear

A heavy gauge

Stainless steel

Cockring

Instead of a Speedo.

The ring

Tight around his balls

And prick

As he strode up and down

The beach

Smoking a cigar.

If that weren’t 

Attention seeking enough

When he got back to his blanket

He would pull at his dick

As if he were in his living room

And not at a nude beach

With hundreds of people around him.

So he sat by himself

All day long

Walking

Stretching

Pulling...

He came with no friends

Met no friends

And left with no friends.

Who knows.

Maybe

He’s just pervy enough

That 

That’s what gets him off.

Epilogue:

It takes one to know one.

Cafe Bustelo

Cafe Bustelo

Bought a brick tonight 

On sale

For $3.25.

It’s been a long while

Since I bought a brick

Of Cafe Bustelo.

The red sale sign

Grabbed me

And then the logo

Followed by the memories

From college.

It was my coffee of choice

Back then.

Affordable.

And when I poured it

From the char-bottomed stove top espresso maker

I felt like I was in Little Havanna

Or Puerto Rico

And I could stay awake

All night

And part of the 

Next day’s classes.

I bought it back then

Because it was cheap

And strong.

It did what it was supposed to do

And tasted good doing it.

Tonight

I bought a brick

Of Cafe Bustelo

For $3.25

Which is still really cheap

For coffee.

I’m on my 86th generation

Stove top espresso maker

Seasoned coffee black-brown at the base.

And Cafe Bustelo

Tastes just pretty damn

Alright to me.

Nocturnal Peregrine

The night birds

Fly into my dark window-panes

Scratching the glass

With their talons

Their stretched skimming shadows

Strong and burning black

Under the luster

Of a polished new moon.

They turn and wing away

Into small silhouettes

Only to return

Larger.

Their hawk beaks

Clacking against the vitreous surface

Again and again

Like sharp rain

That isn’t present tonight.

I’d be easy prey

If it weren’t for the glass stumbling block.

They’d have my eyes out

On the sheets

So that I could watch them

Pulling the remaining life

From my body

Quickly

With a flash of claw

And mandible.

Predatory surgeons

Wresting artery

Organ

And muscle.

I

Sunk into pillows

And duvet

Just trying to read another chapter

Of Ballard

In low light

Before falling asleep.

Joggers

Their firm young rumps

Moved together

In sequence

As they ran past me

On the sidewalk.

They both had

Their hair

In ponytails

One dark

One blonde 

That moved back and forth

In slow even tandem.

In fact

Really looking like

The pendulum tails

Of two muscular horses

Running off 

Into the distance

Ahead of me

Only to turn a corner

And disappear.

Two well-built

Thoroughbreds

Jogging to the finish.

I wasn’t at the gate.

I was in the crowd.

They were just passing by

And I’d have to be strong-armed

Into placing my money

On either one of them.

They were both winners.

Red Tailed Hawk

The bird was on the ground

Feeding

In the shadow of a

Cherry Birch tree.

Black Birds were flying in squadrons

Circling

From the freshly green 

Early summer branches

Directly bombing

Attacking

The stoic predator

Then back up again.

The hawk was unphased

Focused on his meal

Ripping at the meat.

The continual besiege a minor inconvenience.

My first thought

Was he got an egg

Or a hatchling.

But then I remembered

Raptors are hunters

And like to catch their prey

In their talons

Still alive 

And squirming.

I moved closer

And found 

The bird

Pulling at the flesh

Of a freshly killed squirrel

Belly up and open

Red and white

Innards spilling.

Still...

The Black Birds came

In spirals

Choreographed.

Unrelentless

Hitting the enemy

From all sides

Snapping their wings

Pecking and biting.

A fearless ballet

To preserve order

And family

Protecting their young

Hiding under the wings

Of the mothers 

Trembling in nests.

Perhaps by instinct

The babies were noiseless.

The only constant sound being made

Was from the 

Male Black Birds

Flying in 

Screaming violently

At the top of their lungs

Trying to banish

The figure

Eating in silence

Alone

And not moving

Until he

Was done

With it all.

Pushing For It

There comes a point.

Maybe within

The clouded breath of a second

In the chilly fog 

Surrounding

The wet painted metal

Of riveted steel girders

And a thick wooden planked 

Pedestrian boardwalk

Of a bridge over a river

Late in the evening...

Or early in the morning

Depending 

On your body clock.

It might even be

That ‘see-saw’ moment

In the parking lot

Of a bar

In a downpour

Rain pounding 

On out-of-mind clothes

And just only exposed flesh.

Plummeting down

In unceasing 15 gallon tubs

On the hollow epidermis of cars

Like bullets and nails

In a sheet metal racket

Flooding

Ear chambers

With white noise

And the stripe painted asphalt

Of the parking lot

With inches of water.

A moment.

A dot in time.

No matter 

What the circumstances.

If you don’t

Take that chance

Then and there

And push things forward

You are doomed

Miseraby

And regretfully

To just being friends.