Divergent

A young man is running back and forth

Growling 

Grrrrr Grrrrr Grrrrr

Tense and intense but happy

Grrrrr Grrrrr Grrrrr 

His mother stands nearby

Watchful, giving him room

ready to respond 

in case another shopper needs the space he's occupying

As his father pays for the groceries

I'm placing in a brown paper bag 

I don't want to acknowledge that he's

likely neurodivergent

clearly neurodivergent

I don't want to offend

But part of me very much wants to say,

wants to hollar

"I see you neurodivergent brother!

We are mighty! 

We are strong!

Grrrrr Grrrrr Grrrrr litter brother!

Grrrrr Grrrrr Grrrrr!"

Instead I look at his father

his face unsure as I ask

"That your boy?"

He says "Yes." Softly

"Just the one?" I ask

"Just the one." He replies

And I pause in my chore 

Look him in the eye

"Me too."

Dancer

A ballet dancer with vertigo

Jumps up and the room drops

Body spins 

the room spins opposite

cold sweat pushes out 

soaks forehead

stomach want to empty 

it's already empty 

Dancer is praised 

praised 

for appearing to be

always on the edge

teetering

barely staying up

yet almost floating away

And so they are invited to dance again

Ode to a boot licker

It’s said you lick the boot
dreaming it’ll one day house your foot
But I think this is not it
I believe you like the hoof and soot
I think you love the boot
an honor to be amongst the horde
keeping the leather polished

You may dream of being the strongman
even cosplaying, practicing his walk,
the boisterous way he talks
but you’re satisfied
to be under such a foot
to hold up daddy
to serve

This association seems enough for you
seems it’s love to you
licking this mighty boot
is better than the humiliation
of being an equal
to those who are so pathetic as to be equals
to one who is sadly, inexcusably, merely you

Ice

Ice killed someone again today

I’m bagging groceries when a customer

stops to say

Ice shot someone

again

today

He was a US citizen

a nurse

he had a gun

Details trickle in

Ice shot him

dead in the street

I place the glass jars in the bag

Then the eggs

leafy greens

and potato chips on top

We live our lives

Wanting to do more

than just wait for it to stop

Masked thugs killed a poet

They killed a nurse

I take my break

and wait

I wait

For it go on

To get worse

I wait

for Ice killed someone again today

to become just another thing we say

How about that fog

Did you catch the big game

Looks like another school shooting

And Ice

Killed

Someone

Again

Today

Giving Up

 I've given up on my country

And, honestly, also on my life, yeah

But I'll keep punching, kicking, swinging blind

Just because I know what's right, yeah

And whether we, and I, pull out o' this spiral 

or crash and burn at last, yeah

I'll never let it be said that I didn't stand and

 put up a fucking fight, yeah

Old

It's not that I mind getting older

It's just I wasn't finished being young 

I don't want to live forever

Just long enough to get it right

Resoltion

 I'll read Burns this year

And celebrate his birth 

To stay connected to my mother

Whose father, My grandfather

Was a Scott

I'll make vegan haggis

Eat neep and tatties

While listening to the pipes

Remembering I'm the grandson

of a Coyle

Recipe

 Books of poetry 

Collections of verse

Gathered like ingredients 

Inspirational seasoning

In hopes of creating

A flavor never yet tasted

Kathy's House

I drive out of the city

Over the river and through the woods 

past the bird sanctuary

crowded as we head into winter

My mom's house

is mostly as she left it

as she lived in it

feeling as much like remains

as any body could

This empty shell 

is a museum 

to the life she lead

the person she was

and to her absence

I was holding her hand

When she drew her last breath

and I didn't let go

until the coroner came for her

Knowing I'd never hold that hand again

Now I sit in her living room

where I sat with her

through Christmas Eves

and birthday celebrations

And I don't want to let it go

she dies more with every

letting go

Mining

As I walk along the trickle of freshwater

making its way across the sand

to add itself to the ocean

I'm describing it to myself

getting the words right

to share with you

It's this way with every experience I have

gathering the words

Mining for poetry

to bring back some treasure

to share with you

Andy

 I work with Andy

He tells me he once took a year and a half

between jobs

to paint

then he got this job

thirty years ago

and he hasn't painted since

I'm new at this job

I just took a year and a half

between jobs

to write

I'm writing this now

For me

and for Andy

Routine

He puts the tears
back in his eyes
and heads to the coffee shop
on the corner
finding refuge
in routine

They make him his usual and
His name on the cup
Reassures him that
he is recognizable
on the outside
though inside
he's come apart

A Poem For Lydia

Mourn the storm once it's passed

It was destructive and frightening

But also electric and alive and I've seen what beauty that kind of energy can create

I've laughed in spite of myself feeling the raw power rushing past my ears

It's still

And quiet now

And so

I can allow myself

to appreciate what is lost

Consensus

 We've reached consensus

Slavery is bad

and so is rape 

and Royalty

we're getting there

on war

racism

and misogyny

We still embrace poverty

because we're not willing to let go

of the flip side

of that coin

Some must starve

and die

that other's may live

closer to the sky

They told me I was special

Destined

I'm destined

its not supposed to be this hard

I'm special

I'm gifted

I'm meant to for something grand

My faults

they are quirks

Its all part of my charm

Pay me

Pay me

I can't work at Chipotle

I can't

just can't

It isn't what was meant to be

for me

for me

it isn't what I'm meant to be

Ground Chuck

Every punk in Sacramento

Every artist, and every kid

knew the legendary Ground Chuck

and all the things we said he did

Could it possibly have been true

was he cursed, was he blessed

with chalk or sticks or strings

hammering out his holy mess

Chuck the metalhead, punk, and artist

chalking sidewalks for a meal

running across the street to tell the awfullest joke

and my laughs were always real

He'd coax a racket from any instrument

or sing like a banshee's cry

the spirit of our scene, he was

and he'll haunt us all until the day we die

I know he got his fill of cold beers

and some other guy's as well

He was quick with an I love you

or to tell a prick to go to hell

Racists could get fucked

he was fearless in their face

we were his tribe, his club, his family

hardcore, punk rock, artist was his race

The Preacher

He stands preaching

not to me

but to the room

I’m the only one in the room

a wheelchair serves as his cart

that holds all his possessions

including an old bible

that he’s now reading from an old bible 

and I don’t have anything to offer him

other than an audience

but I have work to do

so now I’m on the outside patio

listening to the traffic

and he’s inside preaching

to the walls

and empty tables

I Was Afraid Of Indians

 I was afraid of Indians

I had a recurring dream

they were parading down my street

and the rule was

white people were not to look at them

they would pass by in the night

so long as we kept our gaze turned away

but I 

could not

resist

the colors, the beads, the feathers

the beautiful men and women

with dark skin, and long black hair

I'd carefully lift the curtains in my dark bedroom

I'd watch the parade

until one tall Indian man

suddenly turned his head

and looked directly into my eyes

I dropped the curtain

and hid beneath my bed

so afraid of what was coming

I'd wake up

in that same bed

next to that same window

scared and guilty

the street now empty and quiet

An abandoned and neglected Indian graveyard

by my house

was abused by kids from my neighborhood

I never participated

in kicking over

or otherwise vandalizing a grave stone

but I did climb the fence

and I walked on that ground

that I was not meant to walk on

the guilt of my actions

and the actions of the other white children

turned beautiful dreams

into terrifying nightmares

When I learned to fly

When I first learned to fly

It wasn't graceful

 A bobbing spinning kind of floating

More frightening than exciting

I tried so hard to hide it

Desperate to go undiscovered 

I didn't want to be a superhero 

I didn't want to be a weapon

I just wanted to look down at the world

Like I looked at the bottom of the pool 

On summer nights

With the underwater light on

I no longer fear being spotted 

People, I've found, are only willing to see so much

The Drum Line

 The drum line kicked off the show

and I wondered

Why don't all shows

Start like this

The big bass drums in the back

Swinging, being swung

by girls with shoulders

that were up to it

pounding out the heart beat

The snares in the front

polyrhythm tapped out on the rims

in between the tenor drums

bring color 

all eyes locked 

on the conductor

as he pilots thunder

a storm for dancing

meticulously organized chaos

energy saddled 

and ridden