Thursday, April 5, 2018

How I Got So Good at Doing Nothing

You’d think it were nothing, sitting, sitting, sitting;
you’d think that. Most people can’t
sit five minutes in a quiet room.
It takes skill to idle, one, two, three hours.
Practice.

At six or eight, I’d play, play, play;
as some do. And I’d get tired and wonder
what’d I get. My brother’d say…
aww, I forget, but I’d just sit
and stare while the dogs out back yipped.

It aint easy being easy, easy, easy;
in school. Dedication and hard work
but I stuck to. When the teacher’d ask…
aww, shoot, I’d slack-jaw out the window,
at the young couple picnicking in the soccer fields.

I’m working, but not crazy, crazy, crazy.
I’m a few years older, but you shouldn’t
call it wiser if you can help it.
Those busy-ers say to work so hard
to back-and-forth their days into sleepy nights.

While I watch from the patio.
With lemonade.
Practicing.

Monday, March 26, 2018

Happy Easter

Happy Easter

A paper, folded and tucked under CD spindle,
half full and unburned, no longer relevant in a streaming world,
what I assumed was from my nieces, and it read,

fat animal stamp letters, spelling out the holiday.
Marker scratches made boats and a rainbow, totally unrelated
apart from the mind of myself and no one else,

and my name. And in the corner, careful pen, 1989.
A piece of myself, found, entirely forgotten
when I was older than my nephew is now,

and I remember it non-tirely, but remember the stamps
which were ten times my age and smelled old
when I used them in my grandparents’ basement

the smell of wood and rubber and old paper, like talc,
in a 1980s world where everything I owned
bore the distinct chemical perfume of fresh vinyl.

And someone saved this! I loved them to give it
they loved me to save it for years, past knowing
and did not give it up because they no longer wanted

but because their absence made its presence
part of a box and less of a memory.
Someone pulled it free, me just now from under new plastic,

and someone in the grand clearinghouse
from a frame
from love

from the place it had been forgotten twice
and sent it to me, back to the drawer of boats,
so I could discover it far too early


in the morning for safety.