Little Vines 2/13/20

I’ve been doing these tiny poems for a while. Now I’m giving them their own space.

Take a look at this week’s installment of the Little Vines view of the world – written this week of February 10, 2020.

ma’am I knew you were the woman I was meant to find
when I saw you shopping for Aigner shoes
and pronouncing it Agner

I saw in her eyes
the reflected red plaid glow of my sports jacket.
That’s when I knew I was in love.

The woman took the keys to No Such Address
turned them over and over in her palm.
Clink. Clink. Clink.

Three empty coat hooks
I’m telling you she cried all night

He seems very professional, the new guy at work
code words for
He can pour champagne all over me anytime

in this charming inversion mystery novel
the blood-soaked mayhem of their first wedding anniversary
took place before they were born

inside a seashell
the sound of champagne
pouring into a glass

skinny leafless trees
huddled in the weak sunshine
knock-kneed and shivering

the feelings of strangers
never come into my thinking
at all

look out for the tuba
in the marching band
its melodic flatulence
just now crossing the fifty yard line

the hearse took the tunnel
drove right into the grave
parked and let out its passenger

car parked in the alley headlights in the rain
a few minutes to collect my thoughts
before things change for everyone in Apartment B

oh me in the mirror I see you, yes, you my teeth in daily use
you crave your bath of toothpaste! and you,
you my darling hair, famished for a taste of hairspray,
are you?

The garden here in our dereliction. I can offer you
sweltering shade full of stinging flies
sun-rotted canvas chairs beside a dehydrated pool.

I sidestep in the shadowed margins of brightly-lit fantasy
My heart is still with my old habits
I smell the scent of popcorn across the fairgrounds

the blueprints
meticulously linear
if only the life lived inside the building could be

civilized niceties
one of the things this one small dream has shed
as it unravels

her new purse
chic gray
teetering on the windowsill

the sidewalk
hard-surfaced and unforgiving
like everyone who went along it

I opened the window
grabbed the ghost by the hair
threw a necktie on him
took him to the dance as my date

the little cat
curled in your lap while you smoke
on the fire escape

usually you’re just the slap in the face
an out-of-control office party needs but
tonight you’re wrapped in duct tape just like everyone else

another rearrangement of the furniture
another slap-on-a-coat-of-paint session
You’re ready. Curtain in five. Sing your heart out.

a steak on a blue plate
a bottle of Tabasco sauce on the bar
a beat-up umbrella folded and dripping on the floor

8 thoughts on “Little Vines 2/13/20

  1. I know I have written this before but I continue to marvel at your ability to distill so much into these short poems. Every one suggested a larger narrative and so many genres too. For example, there is so much intrigue in C) that it made me think of a thriller or maybe espionage fiction and D) made me think of tragedy and K) suggested a ghost story.

  2. Thank you. I have thought about these Vines and how they are tiny stories so often, and leave so much to inference and adding on by the reader. I wonder at how I do this myself, to tell you the truth – in speech I am so over explanatory and go on and on, but it seems in writing, especially these, it is the opposite – I am impatient with any but the least amount of words and the simplest way to say things. I don’t know what to make of it but…I like it and doing it. Thank you for seeing so much in these tiny little things.

  3. Well-tuned? Now I’m laughing. Thank you! But…as a member of the high school marching band, I don’t care how long ago, I still hear the tubas in our band and the splat of their sound…They looked good marching, though.

  4. In our band, if you played the trumpet (of which we had too many) and were at the bottom of the group, in marching season you played the tuba. Strangely enough, people balked at first at doing this but ended up liking it. There is something about a tuba…

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