Lowell

Stagger, a little, the streets of nostalgia
under a bright moon this warm summer night
and look for traces of your past.

So hungry most of the time then,
thin and cold
bruised by every hard face,
the brick and stone of the place.

Tonight, you're older
harboring less intensity
not out of maturity or development
just bad faith, exhaustion,
faltering spirits.

You stagger under spirits now,
you and your friend,
it's good that word,
say "friend" .

All that moves out here, besides you
are the disproportionate number of police
daring you to get behind the wheel.

Seasonal

Brace for change
or don't brace, just be fluid
figure it out
so you'll know what to tell them
and what to do
yourself,
It's happening now.

This is Happening Now

Something Blue

Working late while they're out
looking  at potential new lives
and I'm trying to jam the summer fun
into one eight hour block tomorrow
while one little boy gets jealous of the other
and the rain is coming down like it hasn't
for the last several months threatening
the whole plan to kayak around a
reservoir in a state park before going off to my second job.

This is better than the picture
of a cool blue drink on the bar
sweetly exotic promising
to drown you painlessly.

Crowded

Exiled to a child's too small bedroom
it's no wonder they don't like it in here
but I'm already drowsy
with the drone of the fan
and the rhythm of cricket chirps.

Listening to the music of longing
without really feeling it,

Write what you know, what you've seen,
a story of a brown skinned girl looking down from
her prisoner's window
or five drug addicts stuck in the car next to you
sweating with the windows down,
swearing fiercely at each other in the most desperate way,
and the strange civility of their stillness and
in using each other's first names.

Write something that can take us out of here,
something set to music and sung sensuously-
slow as smoke
by someone like Sade
or something.

To Be or Not To Be

There was a guy I knew in school,
older than the average student,
like me, and he worked with his hands,
built things.

He said he wanted to be a writer
unabashedly,
and you know what?

Today, he is one.

So what's your problem?

This On The Radio This Morning