Lightly from her fingertips
the sapphire glass triangle
tumbles towards the hopscotch
drawn in the dusty earth
on the shoulder of the road.
Her blue eyes watch
the eager glass arch hyperbolic
seek the utmost square
She balances on one foot
ready to hop
like a fledging bird
into the sky
The little things
he said
I miss the little things
shaving myself
first thing in the morning
deciding whether to
take a piss
without making an appointment
dressing myself
in the same thing two or three days in a row
if I want to
making myself a snack
and having a couple of fingers of
scotch neat in a tumbler
they don’t allow it you know
brushing my teeth at a sink
reading in bed
before falling asleep
hearing my wife snore beside me
she had a soft little snore
that made me happy
it wasn’t until we did more sleeping
than diddling that
I discovered that cute sound
Never told her
going for a walk by myself
reading a book
taking pictures
watching pretty girls
showing some skin on the street
the first almost-warm Spring day
going to a restaurant
menus I really miss menus
and I miss teasing waitresses
and cute checkout clerks
going anywhere without
planning for toilets
So many things you do
without thinking
the little things
that used to be
Recrimination
Oh yeah?
Well —
His face burned with unspent tears
until the steam building behind his eyes
threatened to split his face into
separate words
individual flaming sticks and stones
that would hit and destroy
where his clenching fists dared not try
He could feel the rumble of a coming explosion
juttering in his trembling cheeks
feel the heat building in his face
why was it not in his fists
but all in his face
displaying his fear
displacing his rage
Does he turn and swallow
and later bury his fist in his pillow
carry his anger
nurture it in layers of remorse
until he can strike softer targets
years later —
No, he yells
So there!