Hiatus

I will be back..

Good News

It is almost crushing the way they long for me, their empty glances tipping up to me from the gloomy well worn waiting room chairs. They sit silently bundled hoping that their name will finally be announced, that I will lead them back to a sterile room with its disposable examination paper and florescent light and give them their wonderful results - the good news, or try to explain their painful progress.. I will not call them all back. Some of their names will come from some other mouth. One that has spent at least half a day's shift breathing into the crummy end of a telephone receiver. Today I thrust a needle into a little girls leg who begged me - once she realized what it was - not to do it. Had I not, her wheezing throat would have pressed the life out of her. I said her name over and over again and today my saying her name was good news.

Blind

It occurred to me that I choose to remove my glasses on a regular basis
and wander the day blind because I am afraid of one day
looking like my father; the two deep imprints of his thick frames
above his ears and those permanent pads of hard leather
resting on the bridge of his nose. One would only ever see them
when his glasses are off which is a sight few have ever seen.
Perhaps his father did not wear glasses and had no one to look to for guidance
on this matter. I would not know.  I have never known him or seen him
in a simple picture.  I do not know his name.  But I find comfort in knowing
how years of sight has punished my father and gladly defer to the fuzzy beyond,
squinting in disbelief at things like noses and ghosts and the shrinking tail lights
of cars for I am blind, just like my father.

Quincy Mornings

I have sat in my car, alone down the freeway
and not ever wanted to take the final exit,
turning up the volume, far beyond realism,
never feeling as though it were ever enough.
I notice the sun come up over the fields
and laugh at how its enormous heat means nothing;
all the corn still frozen, the fog freezing to the
windshield, my fear for black ice as real as death.
I take the final exit, listen to the song once more
and arrive in the parking lot exactly as expected.
Such is the way a seemingly innocuous day begins.
I step out onto the sheen of black pavement
and shuffle my weight across the lot, careful
to preserve my perfectly prepared coffee which
by then, is nearly empty. A careless slip on the
slanted lot and I just might fall forever.

The Daily Consideration

I stand at the mirror most mornings
and take a long look.
I remember doing the same
when I was young, wondering
how I might look as a man.
I do not think of myself now as the
man I might have considered myself then.
I cannot rest my hand on a smaller shoulder
and say what it is like to be a hero.
I do not own a pickup or work all day long
with lumber and tools.
I do not chop wood early in the morning
or eat lunch from an aluminum
lunch pail as my father did.
My hands are not as rough as his.
My glasses not as thick.
Most mornings here are quiet and still.
Aside, of course, from the sound of
hungry feet on their way to
the cereal cupboard.

Impromptu

we all stood around the counter and on it were pizzas
cheap frozen ones that were cooked in her kind oven
she cut them up in her apron and each piece was a different size
we enjoyed every slice despite how hot they were
and they were so painfully hot after just coming out the oven
and my mouth later hurt, made it painful to eat even warm food
but it was worth it to fold a piece small as a chip with it's little toppings
and eat it quietly, watching everyone else silently pretend
to not notice how hot they were – or that we were together again
and eating a hot meal.