a good man deserves a good woman

the only men I’ve ever known are gamblers, alcoholics, deadbeats. I see women with studious, sensitive men on the “A” train,

I see them on street corners,

walking through Central Park together,

riding their bikes as the sun sets:

couples in love. I know

love is only temporary, but being in love means there’s trust.

the only men I’ve ever known are gamblers, alcoholics, deadbeats. I see women with good men in crisp, white Oxford shirts,

and hairless faces.

“I’m a sucker for the bad boys,” I tell my mother.
“a good man deserves a good woman,” she says under her breath.

image courtesy of Banksy

I can be good. even if it kills me, I can be good, better than a social worker, better than a pre-school teacher, better than Mother Teresa; I can be a good woman, who deserves a good man,

he will worship me, snip off a lock of my hair and keep it in his shirt pocket,

he will enjoy my delusions,

laugh at my jokes,

dance with my grandmother,

caress my cat’s neck,

sleep on his side of the bed.

he’s out there,

somewhere

among the gamblers, alcoholics, deadbeats.

The Perfect Ending

Concentration shot by noon, scraping out rice pudding
from a plastic container, I have revised three pages of a
23-page short story
my boredom growing by the second
hankering to find the perfect climax in a piling
mess of words
characters flat
conflict out of tune
voice and tone mind-numbing
trite, sentimental

while I fight off self-doubt
watch it slither down my body
no one to validate me
no Gordon Lish to watch
over me.

If I fail I will die with no
name, my family will dig up a hole
throw me in and paste a picture of me
as a rosy-cheeked teen, in lieu of an epitaph

a priest chants the Ave Maria

I’ve broken my promise to never write a death poem
but I can still save this one, watch me, salvageable, be-
lieve me an idea
has flashed
here at noon and I’m rewriting the ending
eating some chocolate covered almonds
leaving brown marks
on my laptop keyboard

maybe this
will tie it all up

in a neat tale

if you’re lucky
I’ll let you read it.

Calamity

Last night during a heavy rainstorm a hundred-year old tree branch fell on top of your car.  In the middle of the bright morning, a tower crane crashed through your bedroom walls.  This afternoon, as you walked across a busy inter-section, thousands of screws and bolts exploded into the crowd. Afterwards, while you were alone on top of the clouds, the rumblings of an avalanche surprised you.

First

My first, true boyfriend

played baseball

and he told me about it:

“it’s never good enough…

no matter

how good you are

compared to the team…

no matter how much you practice

how much

you achieve…

it’s never

good enough…”

“listen honey,” I

said, “find something else–

something you’re just as good at.”

he stared at my forehead

and I knew then we just didn’t

get each other.

he stopped calling me

shortly

after.

Caption Poetry

The children's fangs drip ink.

A mother shoots her sleeping foot.

Truth leaves them feeling empty.