TGIF

I have given up on the saccharin treasures of my optimism today.
There is no angelic voice calling me "Honey" at the drive-thru with my morning coffee,
no toothless grin of a child on the bus making me late,
nor the calming taste of left over licorice to heal me.

My mind is a rabble of noisy, angry thoughts
left over from a work-week full of unnecessary toil.

My colleagues and I depart the place
where we make sweaty wages,
defeated and lifeless,
as if we were the putrid remains of some poor animal
run over and left to rot on the side of the road.

I wipe the mucous from the pinched corner of my mouth
and spit the poison onto the ground.

On days like these, let the rain fall down in all her misery
and give me hope that tomorrow
can't get any worse.

The paper cuts will fade in no time.
The psychological games and irrational gems
will be there, festering,
when we get back on Monday.

For now, we give knowing looks to each other as we pass out the door saying,
"Thank God it is Friday."

Where Witches Take Tea

At the vegetarian cafe in Burlington
where nothing happens, my mouth is sluggish
with wine
and sweet
vanilla beans
in cream,

yet the words in my mind blister with witchcraft
I would unleash if I had a wand full of magic
and the will to burn the smoking truth into timbers
of the raging false structure surrounding us all.

It would not take a detective long to consider the wind speed
and elevation in calculating the fool.

The smile on the face of the innocent pinches
and converges at the touching of hands

and the imagination of so many sun-drenched days.

Make Way for More

These days I would settle for a treaty.
Where gossip plunders the truth.
let the voice of wisdom bring focus.

Where a gallant idea surfaces,
let us coax creativity like a breezeway to the heart.

Where a carbuncle of hate swells and festers
under the surface near the source,
let the foolish klutz laugh
and release love onto the path
between heart and denial.

Collect respect.
Loiter in love.
Make way for more.

In the Delicate Hours

In the delicate hours after sleep is upon the body
like a mistral at midnight

let the night tell her stories
coaxing love from the belly of the constant darkness.

I have placated sadness for so long
I had forgotten what gratitude does for the white snows,
brilliant cardinals in pairs at the feeder,
and warm coffee in a single press.

Each word of comfort,
verbatim from the deepest winter heart,
whispering a secret code at the doorway
to a society that forgives everything.