Adventures in 3/30

in the church where i grew up
there is a boy who carries a man bag
who knows the difference
between ascots and cravats
who wears plaid suits
with the pants too tight

all of the deacons shake their heads
whenever he comes to prayer
and he comes to prayer every week
he is usually the topic of conversation
just before the giggles go silent
then the silence cut
by the serrated edge of the question
"so is he?
         or isn't he?
                does anybody know?"

he does a perfect job
of clapping along
when the whole church erupts in praise
but sometimes he sits on the back row
sometimes he pulls too much at his tie
sometimes when he prays he reminds me of hannah
always filled with tears
and often no words
i think he has stopped believing
that our god
is a god of love

Adventures in 2/30

no one may ever understand
how the words always come back to you
it's a tricky dichotomy
of love and regret
of false starts
and good intentions

the first poem i wrote
was meant to say goodbye
but came out
something like "im sorry"

the next
a ramble of reasons to stay
i never allowed myself to finish

there is a poem for you
on the fabric of a bus seat
somewhere in northern virginia
it is a fervent promise
to never break any promises again

on napkins
in 16 resteraunts
the first line was "i still love you"
but the second
still a secret at the bottom
of 16 garbage bins

the space
between the front of my journal
and the crack in its gentle spine
is a ping pong match
between past and future
between what is true
and a seductive lie

give me pens
there is another poem
still buried beneath all this surface
give me pens
i still need to write a poem for you

Adventures in 1/30

he said

       if you don’t quit smoking, you will die
like it was a fact
like there was no leeway
like the next drag
like the very next drag of my cigarette
would be the last thing i ever did on this earth
his friendly demeanor like dust in the ashtray
his white coat like a last-chance warning

       hear me
he said

       you can quit, or you can die

that day i bought a fresh pack of cigarettes
placed it on the nightstand with the birth control and inhaler
here is how i played russian roulette with myself

sometimes i did not use condoms
other times i was still buzzed when i drove
most recent i placed a flame 3 inches from my face
and breathed slow
the savor of nicotine and suicide
like a bullet in the chamber
with a mighty slow spin
and something seductive in the pull

there is still a pack of parliaments
on the bookshelf
in my bedroom
in case i ever get trigger happy
eager to watch the world end in a puff of smoke