DREAM ON
Still dark, snow falls in Madison,
We head home to Hermosa Beach.
An old man trudges into our hotel.
I ask if he’s our taxi. He doesn’t hear,
just lugs our luggage to his Cadillac.
In the rear view mirror, his frozen features,
filled with a lifetime of feelings,
make me want to take him along,
place him under a palm tree, thaw him,
find the father I never knew.
HERE COMES THE SUN
A startling stalk, a volunteer,
a four-inch bloom about to burst.
Once open, honeybees buzz,
gather a gold mine of pollen,
specks, held by back legs.
Small star-florets spiral
from the center, drop away,
unveil a web of seeds.
Finches feast,
as the Aztec and Inca
solar deity shines.
THE WAITING ROOM
I’ve been married and divorced,
married and divorced,
married and divorced,
married and divorced,
married and divorced,
five times. Single now,
and due for a bypass.
My heart needs fixing.
