Soul Mate

He sat at the wheel of a parked truck
charming me, calling me close.
He looked me over, took me in--
while he whiffed I stroked
his bloodhound ears.

Testament

Behind a tall padlocked iron fence
a home stands, shrine to a failed marriage,
still unresolved after fifteen years.

One day, the padlock gone--gates
gape open--neighbors need to peek.
Invading ivy guides the path
to decaying unpainted walls,
weeds wavering in flower boxes,
wood slats blown from somewhere,
and in the back: a rusted hot tub
by a tête-à-tête tea house, its panes
in pieces, green growth inside.
No Solomon saved this baby.

Now open to the public--
a museum of love and hate.

In the Aquarium Auditorium

Dark mascara highlights the pale skin
of a Demi Moore look-alike—before the
silver nostril ring and punched ear lobes.
Her scalp is shaved on the sides, and
dyed black braids dangle from top hair.
A skull image adorns a handbag
hanging from her bare shoulder
showing some tattooed flying bats.

Blouse open, she breastfeeds
a two-year-old towhead, a beatific scene.
The movie begins, Ocean Mysteries,
but I'm entranced in hers.

Penitent

Seed Teeth holes in the bird feed bag--
a delicious day turns to turmoil.
I shift from being benign to murder.
At the check-out counter, the woman
commiserates, offers her two cats.

Tonight I feel my green friends,
who raise kale, cabbage and cucumbers,
who compost and bake flax-laced crackers,
play You could've, You should've
as I lie awake thinking of the mouse
who thought he'd found heaven
and how I had to send him there.