White Light

She falls asleep upstairs

Smelling of

Fresh picked lavender

Her naked body

Braided within

Majenta sheets

Adorned with a purple

Moorish pattern

Found on Berber pillows

Or Moroccan caravan tents

Her skin

Carved soapstone

Smooth

Breathing

In reflection

Of the moon’s white light

Tonight

I remember white light

I drift past the screen door

Of the front porch downstairs

Into the same white light

To walk the dog

Into a town 

Of bioluminescence

There is a sweet breeze

I distantly recall

White light confection

Perfection

Swirly dreams

And flashbacks

I listen to the throaty drone

Of a shovelhead 

Not shifting

Hitting it up the hill of a county road

A few blocks from where I was standing

The dog and I listen

To this soundtrack

Of white light night

Assured that it didn’t 

Disturb her sleep

A few blocks away

On a second floor

After I walk this dog

I will return to her

To magenta

And soapstone

And the smell of lavender

Bathed in the cinematic

The End Of A 20 Year Marriage

At the end

In the middle 

Of fucking

She would ask

Not

"When are you going to cum?"

But

“When are you going to join a gym?”

Mind you

I wasn’t in bad shape.

I’ve been fortunate enough

To look around me

At other men

The same age

And thought to myself

“They look so much older.”

I continuously

Get disbelief.

“You look like you’re in your late thirties.”

Or generously

“I thought you were in your thirties.”

Even with grey showing in my goatee.

I realize now

Looking back

That she wasn’t happy with herself

And projecting that on me

To make herself feel better.

I knew then 

In the middle of intimacy

That it was over.

You can only listen to that song

On repeat

For so long.

Fucking had become formulaic

And demeaning.

Seven years on

I’m going to the gym

Because I want to.

And I fuck like a champion

Going for the gold medal.

She Looks Good In Red

The color

Of a crimson red carnation

Done 

In silk

And lace

Looks good on her.

Looks good against her skin.

Her muscles.

As she smoothes 

Back the covers and sheets

And puts her feet 

On the wooden floor

Looking at me.

Showing me.

That she really doesn’t

Want to go.

Her second look

Shows me there’s 

No other way.

Works involved.

Moments later

I hear the shower start to run.

Whatever magic happened

Is all over now.

Red was last night.

Dandelion Wine

One afternoon

We stole a bottle 

Of your father’s 

Homemade dandelion wine

And found a park

With a large meadow

Of grass

We laid down a blanket

And drank 

The entire bottle 

In the warm summer sun

We talked

And laughed so hard

I remember

Nothing happened

Yet everything did
Happen that day.

Gin Wife

Mix booze

With a narcisist

And you have 

A rough cocktail 

To swallow.

There’s many times

That I look back

And I wished I’d never 

Saved her life.

It’s true.

Near the end 

When I did 

Sleep with her

She snored terribly

And smelled

Even worse.

There was actually

A division line 

Through the bedroom.

Our bedroom.

It went right down the center

Of the bed.

Her side

Was a disaster

Stacked with papers

And stale clothes.

My side

Was neat and tidy

Vacuumed twice a week.

I had to live 

Separately from her throes.

So much anger

And fighting.

About WHAT?

It was the booze

And narcissism.

Talking

And arguing

And fighting

Physically.

I can remember

Being at work

Waiting for the phone calls

From my children

On a daily basis.

That their mom was fucked up.

Too fucked up 

To take care of them.

Too fucked up 

To make them dinner.

That they were scared.

I stopped all of that.

I put an end to it.

There’s times.

Many.

When I wish that

I didn’t come home.

Home

To find her

Whining like an injured animal

Dying.

The phone calls

Would’ve stopped.

I wouldn’t have had 

To take my kids

To see their mom

In some flea-bag motel

On the side of Route 202

To see their mom

In the midst of years

Of trying to get her shit together.

But me...

I’m doing alright.

I’m in the state of NJ.

We 

Have archaic alimony laws

In which

I pay her money.

Just saying...

I wish

I never came home

That day

To get my son’s lunch.

Cocoa

My dog is 15 years old

He’s still a champ

As far as senior age goes

He has a hard time getting up

It’s a struggle

His hips are going

He walks slow

And when I let him out

In the morning

He pees for 30-40 seconds straight

Nonstop

You’d think he was pissing

His last piss

One of them will be

His teeth are receding

Or falling out

He smells terrible

But I don’t tell him

I just wash and shampoo him

As often as I can

He doesn’t like it

He tolerates it

Sometimes baring his teeth

Under a curled black lip

I have to remind him

Who I am

These days

He’s shedding so much hair

I fear for his masculinity

I vacuum it up daily

Filling canisters

And dumping them 

In the trash

When I tell him

I love him

He looks at me unresponsive

Or quizzically

Through foggy brown eyes

We’ve been through a lot together

He’s slow to take a treat

He’s maintenance now

Long past are the days

Where I threw a stick

Out into the Delaware River

Over and over

It didn’t matter

How far I threw it

Cocoa 

Would always

Swim out and retrieve it

Bring it back to shore

And tease me

With it

Running around

Refusing to give it up

Easily

Baring perfect teeth

Sunk into the wood’s flesh

Growling

I miss that fight 

My friend

Medicine Cabinet

After exploring the meds

In my parent’s 

Medicine cabinet

While recently visiting

To see exactly what they were on

And pilfering

A hand-full

Of the good stuff

Shutting the twin doors

Looking into

The sterilized mirrors

Staring

Realizing

That someday

Not too far off

The commute towards death

Is closer 

Than I think

That I will 

Be much like my parents

I can see the 

Same shared physical features

There in the glossy glass

They are smaller

Than I last remember them

And move slower

Outside the bathroom door

I know

They visit the doctor

On a regular basis

I recall the denture cream

The Preparation H

The pain-aids

The brown and white

Plastic pharmacy bottles

With laser printed labels

On clean shelves

Behind Home Depot mirrored glass

On my way out

Wiping my hands

On peviously un-used

Pretty guest towels

With a seashore theme

And kiss them goodniight

The lawn sprinklers came on

As I was walking out the door

Being careful to protect my pockets

And their acquired bounty

So they wouldn’t get wet

Until I reached my car

Got into the stale smell
Shut the door

And waved

Good-bye