Clumsy Me


I fell here
     For the first time.
Not my first
     Time falling.
My first time
     Falling here.

And how I fell,
     How I’ve fallen:
Up stairs,
     Down stairs;
Out of bed,
     Into slumber;
On sidewalks,
     Cracked and smooth;
Out of clothes,
     Out of minds;
From dance floors,
     Damned wet floors:

Knees scraped,
Tailbone bruised,
Palms bloodied,
Ankles swollen.

And how I’ve fallen:
     Short of God’s grace,
     From on high—
     Gravity’s curse—
     Love’s lumbering curse.

At the Crosswalk

Why are you standing here?       Why are you standing here?
Blah blah blah.                            Could’ve crossed the southbound with the light,
Blah blah blah                             Then crossed over there, to keep moving, y’know,
Blah blah blah                             I chose to rest my pounding heart and feet here.
Waiting for the cars to stop.            Blah blah blah

Where are you coming from?      Where are you coming from?
Blah blah blah                             My mom is from the west, Scotch Irish.
Blah blah blah                             My father’s a South Boston man, Dorchester.
Blah blah blah                             I’m Manhattanite in my soul, thoroughly.
From that building, over there.        Blah blah blah

Where is it you’re going?            Where is it you’re going?
Blah blah blah                             This Island’s always home, but I wish
Blah blah blah                             To see God’s world, the oceans and continents,
Blah blah blah                             Their men and women: sing their songs, taste their foods.
To that corner, just across.              Blah blah blah

How do you see yourself?          How do you see yourself?
Blah blah blah.                             I’m an egocentric scophophile,
Blah blah blah                              I love the sight of me, though suppose I could,
Blah blah blah                              With practice and faith, be a better neighbor.
With makeup, in the mirror.              Blah blah blah

Cars are stopped.                        There’s our light.
We should walk, no?                    Go together?
Good day, stranger.                     Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah                              Farewell, old friend.

The Tao of Taco Salad

Greasy, browned, and chili’d beef,
Seasoned and dripping, auburn
With cayenne, and tomato, and onion, and mostly salt:
Saturating the crispy shell bottom.

Shredded, yellowed iceberg leaf,
Drenched, ribboned filler of space.
Providing the gruesome illusion of healthiness:
Oleaginous vegetal distraction.

Sharp cheddar jack and sour cream,
Dolloped, cast, and clumping mass:
Creamy , soothing salves, tongue-tickling cool diversions
From the warm and spicy protean guts.

Salsa fresca, rough-chopped japs,
Minced or sauced, mildly-kicking,
A palate-consternating flaming glue and tinting force:
Power in each otherwise feckless bite.

Alas, the edible bowl:
Golden-crisped, corned and flaky,
Fleetingly contains, embraces then disintegrates
Into bygone crumby reminiscence.