Daily Archives: December 9, 2016

Friday Night

A Friday night
at home, my head
sore and full,
my heart empty,
collapsing
on its hollow core.

As the known world
is bathed anew
in harsh light
and the shadows
become deeper,

I look at the walls
around me.  Tonight
they are cocoon, tomorrow
they may be prison or
casket  —

or barricade. If so I may
become a warrior tomorrow

so I’ll take tonight for peace
and sleep well, even if I must keep 
one eye open; hold love close
in case 
thieves come for it in the night

as they’ve always come in the past,
a past many of us have grown too soft
to remember.

We are remembering it now,
have taken night after night
to do so, to get ready, to toughen
up — tonight, though,

I at least will be
at peace before
looming war.

I can’t refuse this heart
this moment of calm tonight

as I cannot say
when or whether
I will find one
again.


New Neighborhood

The rents here,
the house prices here,
everything’s cheaper
than normal.

You know it’s because
of how people say
the people are
around here;

you’ve got big plans
to change all that.

There’s a silent corner house
whose jagged windows testify
to it having cried out 
at least one time.

Imagining
pleas of broken glass
in the middle of the night, 
you tell yourself
that if you had lived here when
they were being violated,
you would have come outside
to intervene on behalf 
of your neighbor. 

You’d have been, 
you will be, you are
a good neighbor. 

That backyard of fill
and scruff grasses
is likely toxic as hell
so adding in the cost 
of raised beds and 
trucked in soil — eh,
small price to pay
in comparison to
the bargain you’re getting.

There is a path
through the backyard
that leads to a section
of crushed chainlink.
Looks like kids use it
to cut through. “New fence”
goes on the to-do list.
Not cheap, but

good fences, you’ve heard
something about those.

You wave to someone 
on a third-floor porch 
across the street.  
They turn, 
go back inside.
No matter.
Big plans. They’ll see.

It’s going to be
good.