Good Luck, Brave Trucker

“Well, gee,”

says I to Stick Marie,

“I thought I’d hate your company.”

She built this netpage on the web.

All day she sells that girly shit

she knits.

My wife was almost Honest Deb.

This chick, I’ll stick with it.

The kid

that Stick Marie had slid

is crawling in a scribbled grid.

It’s running circles in the yard.

It hardly knows the things I do.

It mews

and doesn’t care when I am hard.

It does because I do.

The boys catch trout

and send me pictures from their boats.

I’m driving still and can’t get out,

trying to float,

I text back if they don’t gloat.

The road

until I can unload

is long and all my wheels are slowed.

These eighteen dogs can pull the weight

but in the mirror of the stop

I drop

my eyebags down and shift my freight.

I’m far from home and there are pills to pop.

July 27

Stop Doing Things For A Good Reason

Though it was unforgettable
Do not say it was wonderful.
Did it make you uncomfortable?
How did you know it could be great?

And just as vital to our growth
Is when we do the things we loath.
We have to face that we do both
That which we love and which we hate.

July 26

Sonnet For Teenage Pregnancy

He is chubby-cheeked still, and he clutches the controller

She is third best in her class, someone says, “that’s the girl with no friends”

When they kiss he is the first boy to touch her molars

He is as clammily warm and charming as the evening extends

All five of his sisters are older than he

And her younger sister is, if possible, more awkward and reserved

He’s afraid to buy condoms because of uncomfortable he would be

They both got more than they deserved

His parents got their very grandchild

From their youngest and most unmarried son

But the wedding is Christian and quick and unwild

Nursing school can wait, she knows, he’s the one

And the night is unusually cool for the late July

When the windows are open and the outdoors are dry

July 25

Your Umbrellas

You can stand under my umbrella
Well actually it was your umbrella but I was the one holding it
The streets were flooding and the rain was going sideways so we got soaked anyway
But I kept holding your umbrella

I told you
“It’s a good song but the arrangement is wrong”

And a few days later I carried around the pink umbrella in case it rained
But it stayed hot and the sun was outside
Our hands had no trouble finding one another

July 24

That's The Stuff

Twisted but wistful stares

Under the co-admirers' pissed-off glares

Of them he is entirely unaware

But they really don’t matter.

He lists, stops, moans

Never wished that he could be less alone

Drags the crimson flesh to bone

When his thoughts don’t scatter.

There is something in his regards

He takes no fall too soft or hard

Memorized the names of the boys from Scotland Yard

But hasn’t met her.

He drinks in silence and then he lies

Spends cash on the last of the supplies

Expects nothing grander than his own demise

Or, at least, nothing better.

With friends like these

Who needs amenities

I got the feeling I could never please

Or say thank you enough

But grace, good God, that’s the stuff.

July 23