2.14.2009

Magpies

Perched upon gnarled limbs
in the early morning light.

A sparkle
takes flight and floats
through the air.

The shimmer
of black feathers
and the sound of
song like humanity
murmuring,
gently.

For now, this tree
is home and wary
wings remain
at rest.

In the mirror,
she recognizes
herself at last.


**PM**

2.08.2009

Wedding Ring

He runs his finger
along the inside of the dirty drain,
pokes it deep
and comes up with a
nice ball of wet hair.

He hopes
it's down there
somewhere

and not in the jacket
he left behind.

In his reflection,
he sees trouble coming.


**PM**

Death and Taxes

"Sure things, right?" she says.
"Nothing is certain," he says.

They look at each other
as if
for the first time.


**PM**

Dead Battery

"I can't believe it's dead
again," he says,
laying his tired head
against the steering wheel
as frost covers the
windshield in lace and glitter.

His breath is warm
in the stillness.

There are no birds singing
in the early morning light.

The work week dawns.


**PM**

War

It's only a vehicle
for the transfer of
wealth
from one greedy human
to another.

It is driven
upon bloody rails.

The sparks glint in the darkness
and
the sound is
death,
laughing.


**PM**

Mountains

The best part
is
they will
outlast

all of us.


**PM**

Children's Voices

I know you want
this to be about how
wonderful the sound is,
how it makes you smile,
every time you hear
happy children's voices
floating through the air.

But the truth is:

the sound is like rusty chains
being dragged across a metal grate
while a dump truck backs up
on a day you're trying to sleep in
or
after a hard week at work.

Which is usually.


**PM**

Divorce

It's been ten years
and he's never been happier.

He's pretty sure of this
as he
pours a quiet whiskey
on Tuesday
at midnight.


**PM**

Beads

Silver beads hang from the branches of
the trees
in New Orleans.
Purple and gold and green,
the littered memory
of past celebration,
and the
promise

of good times still
to roll.


**PM**