My coffee outdoors

I like when
the humming bird 
sits still
just a moment

unflapped 

by the world, 
then 
is gone again, 
ambition restored.

Cheese and Whine

My children
just left for
the school bus.

One of them
was crying
about cheese.

I promise you
I was the coolest
chick in high school.

Well not the
most popular or
prettiest maybe.

But I have always
thought my own
thoughts.

I didn't have
this style yet, no
horn rimmed glasses-

that rainbow dress
not even a thought.
But I promise I was

wild inside, oh
the things I did
in high school.

My children
just caught
the school bus.

One of them
crying
for cheese.

I See

We all  keep our
eye to the peephole.

Cookies are the
business cards of
our 5 and Dimes.

Brick and mortar
slain like the
buffalo on the
plains.

In this age
I buy books
and boots,
jerk off to
electronic boobs
I tweet
and they swoon.

I keep my eye
for an eye
to the peephole
for a peephole.

I let them see.

They see
the scars
and the vomit,
boogers and
Hep C.

They see
the ugliest part
of me,
if they put
an eye to
the peephole.

Fair exchange

because I see
the daughters
of dozens of dads
smile at my words
and warm
my old broken heart.

I see jazzmen
in Ireland
Travis picking
hillbilly tunes,
the songs of my father
and theirs.

I see stylized motifs,
India's truck art,
beautiful work
by Haider Ali,
and her street markets
with colors just
as rich.

I peek into the most
intimate of places,
as others share
their private thoughts.

Like early morning stoned
tattoo artists afraid
of dying before
understanding
how the ocean's
bed is made.

Like lonely new
teens who purge
and sing beautiful words,
and artists who cut pain
into their skin,
as if crying is a sin.

I am alone at the door,
but it is the humanity
I see

when I keep my eye
to the peephole.