New Little Vines. Here is this week’s array.
what’s your objection
to this particular unfolded paper rectangle?
is it the words written on it?
why are you setting it on fire?
this can of white paint –
industrious, talented, and bland –
just what the wall is looking for after its last relationship
with the dramatics of pickle puke green flat latex
I dig and dig a pit in the sea
the salty water refilling as fast as I scoop it out
How will I ever be able to bury my secrets
if you fight me so hard?
Out early on the jealous city streets
she wears her emerald attitude on her face
she crosses traffic against the green light. So it begins.
here is what I have learned in the last thirty-five years:
the beginning wife picks the home
the ending wife picks the bank account
Happy to hear a bird sing
to push the night into the day
you do your part. You whistle along.
Of course you can’t talk to her now.
it’s eleven fifteen at night and
she’s up to her neck in pink pajamas.
Try her tomorrow.
Best friend to the Aardvark
the shoreline coasts along only a few yards away –
We’re not good sailors. We appreciate the escort.
the out-of-fashion necktie
in its brash unembarrassed paisleyness
whisks me back home
in time for my mother’s spaghetti dinner
Does the skeleton refrain
from rattling inside the living body
as it runs a marathon? Think about it.
succeeds with the miracle
while the first one is still flipping through the manual
buy a costlier aquarium
collect some fancier fish
what a dumb way of keeping up with the Joneses
the susceptible me the implacable you
the inaccessible relationship we do not have
because despite it all we love each other
Malevolence at a lakeside cottage
the speedboat tied to the dock sneers
the water skis crossed in a lazy X lean against the hull
The cook’s habitual acidic running commentary
influences the outcomes of her baking:
Get a load of this over-the-top face-puckering lemon pie. Ewww.