For Sale

Quentin Tarantino came by today
to look at that bedroom suite.

Sweet.

He's living over in Black Forest now,
disguised as a fireman.

I recognized him right away though.

NaNoWriNoMo

Gotta report, NaNoWriMo is not on the agenda this year. I had plans, but there you go. I am working on a sestina that has my head spinning, but the edits I intended to accomplish on my erstwhile novel, 'Strays,' are just not getting done. As a justification, I might add: I completed a grant application for a client, am in the process of distilling the poetry for a chapbook, made significant progress on my quilt, got the downstairs windows replaced, put out two postcards, designed my Christmas card, attended a workshop at Kozo, and managed three weeks ago to incur some vague not very important discomfort to my hip by moving too many boxes and items of furniture that should not be moved by Someone's Sainted Mother.

It's November. Only the duck hunters and the deer slayers need bestir themselves. Since returning from Illinois, I have to admit to symptoms of being entirely smitten, entirely unexpectedly, entirely absorbed in this whimsy. So forgive me, imaginary readers, for my sins of omission, if sins they be. Small crimes, more likely.

Hiding in Heaven

I can just see you up there,
tipped back in an old chair on the porch,
sipping a beer,
looking down on our foolishness.

You're chewing snoose, spitting
into an old soup can.
'Gol-damn, I thought they'd know better
by now.'

Apparently we didn't learn a thing
in the last twenty years - no surprise there.
You're the only one among us had any sense.

Sure as I'm born, I know you're up there:
all dogs go to heaven and you were a bad dog.
A handsome dog.
Dog-gone.

Singing ReNee Home

My dear cousin Maurice's wife, ReNee left us in mid-October. She was surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren holding her hand, stroking her hair, singing the hymns she taught them, generation unto generation. This is a prayer for ReNee.

Light a candle, the light has dimmed,
Light a candle and sing a hymn.
We're singing ReNee home.

Light a candle and say a prayer.
Turn around, she'll still be there.
We're singing ReNee home.

Light a candle, the light stays on.
Her grace and love within us strong.
We're singing ReNee home.

Light a candle, sing to the sky.
The beacon shines on, Heaven is nigh.
We're singing ReNee home.

crazy marie

is a dog warden
in the mad river valley

she lives in vermont
these days

the first time i saw her,
she was like a neon sign
lighted from within.

i said, who are you?
and i want to be your friend -
whadday think about that?

she was pretty cool about it.
after all, i was a potential
customer.

it didnt surprise me she sold
electronics,
with all that light within.

i never bought anything
she sold.
but she shared her light.

you drive a hard bargain

i'm all right
alone, i think
i am.

i was, anyway

until you rolled up in that gold
oldsmobile:
'you'll look good in this, babe.
wanta take a ride?'

i said, 'sure.
sure, i do.
i'd like a ride.'

we drove north
and then back home.

you took me back home,

in your gold oldsmobile.