fill your ears with the greats -
Bach & Miles & Duke,
and whoever else
plays with grace.
Be the busker of grace;
embrace every encounter
as an opportunity to
Do it for
and with grace
you won’t need
It’s a Zanzibar Hyperbole!
she exclaimed through a mouthful of guacamole and chips.
I didn’t understand, nor did I ask.
Heated by the
radiance of her face
brimming with mischief and enchantment, I could not
love her more.
While I was walking to catch a ferry home -
it was leaving in ten minutes -
I ran into a former friend;
someone who I pulled the plug on
a couple of years ago:
the friendship wire frayed from
denial and disrepair.
as always, his dress was casually prosperous
though a bit strained under some
his curly hair set in place
his eyes tired and porcine.
we shook hands a bit too forcefully,
with the illusion of enthusiasm,
as if nothing had gone down
I asked him about his succession of jobs;
yes, every one continued to have a villain who
didn’t appreciate his value.
they all started with promise, but ended badly.
he is presently unemployed and collecting again.
a couple of instant soul mates,
but nothing lasting,
they all have emotional problems.
presently single, but looking.
he bought a new Beemer last year -
posted it on Valentine's Day -
before his latest job termination,
still lives in a small rental in town,
planning to buy a house of his own when…
his mom’s still hemorrhaging his inheritance -
always nothing but the best -
in the best assisted-living facility,
still alive at ninety-seven,
though she doesn’t recognize him when
he visits every couple of months;
he is relieved that mom doesn’t recognize
his sister either, who visits every day.
he’s gotten a lawyer to protect
what’s coming to him.
didn’t have much time to answer
what about you?
with more than:
still married, still working, still living in our same home;
but we adopted a rescue dog from Arkansas.
hearing the ferry announced I said
quickly shook his hand and
walked away before the inevitable:
don’t remember what caused the unplugging,
probably was a bunch of small things
that gnawed at the cable;
only knew that the wires were
she was walking
and never came back.
She knew perfumes,
I love you
The day that
she took nothing,
when desire blossoms
into spontaneous jubilation,
in the goodness
on the tube
this junk itself as
mechanical in the beginning
what we see hear smell
sham honor among fools
will not shut up
authenticating existence -
yours? theirs? mine?
you never know what to expect
so locked up, safe in the shadows
listening for train whistles
smelling burning leaves
only frozen moments;
Copyright © 2018 by Dave Stankowicz for Blackdog Cottage Industries
Please do not reproduce any photographs without permission.
Squawks of hungry birds
echo in the lifeless trees,
Dreams turn to folly
with the mistaken conviction
that the magic of arrival
does not require
the burden of obligation.