dinner for one

he is content sitting alone
the bustle of the restaurant
a calming reminder
that the buzz of the hive continues
long after his wings are clipped

back in the days he flew free
meals cooked by his wife of 53 years

it's been so long
that's a wistful memory
he conjures up by ordering liver and onions
despite the grimace by the young waitress
a favorite dish
reserved for Sunday nights

he sits and waits
slowly sipping his coffee
with barely trembling hands

waiting for a meal he can no longer cook
waiting for the return of a faithful companion
knowing he can only order one off the menu

danger

prying apart the sinewy ties
between my mind's fantasies
and reality

the dreams pumping a poisonous blood
into my everyday activities
sickly muscles
growing stronger and stronger

you nonchalantly feed the beast
one handful at a time

do you know what you're creating?

time well spent

I. waves
sunglasses

we walked for miles

conversation between old friends
as old as you can be
when you're sixteen

the sun slowly swallowed by the surf

watching people go by
envying suntanned bodies
and hands held tight


II. sand
sunglasses

wondering about a future
admiring spacious balconies
families

small creatures
burrowed deep in the sand
broken shells from the past

sketching hearts and initials
recklessly sharing in the moment
hide tide erasing all confessions


III. we would walk
we would hold hands
and share
on the beach
in our sunglasses

on aging and happiness (in a swimming pool)

it's nice to know
that as we age
this anxiety will fall away
our terseness will push us over

(we can momentarily watch this from the lifeguard's chair, at the neighborhood pool in the heat of summer, wilted vines crawling up the chain-link fences)

men and women toppling off the diving boards
bodies, frame by frame, aging into wrinkled shells
falling into one elegant splash
creating ripples of happiness
that casually push the group along
swimmers slowly liberated from the congestion of acquaintances
faithful companions doggy paddle side by side
long strokes towards the shallow end
and the stairs to climb up and out
shamelessly displaying aged bodies
sagely glancing back at the deep end
the youthful thrill of not being able to touch the bottom
replaced by the confidence
of feet on the ground.

zip code

he crept out onto the roof
to feel the crunch of snow on his boots
and to feel the burn
run up the inside of his thighs
to wait and think
before morning whisked away the brilliance of the moon
and thousands of evening stars

looking over the emptiness
that comes with rural living
lives marked by mailboxes
miles and miles apart

he knew she was out there
pausing in her driveway
neck tilted up to examine the stars
if only he knew what she was thinking
if only he knew she was thinking of him

instead he had his own thoughts
haunted by science
things dreamers shouldn't think about
the enormous shifting plates underneath him
slowing dragging his world out to sea