Poem: "brother & sister"

    she’s a waif about to vomit her bread,
    to get ready for the Banana Republic shoot,
    the “I love it when you look at me” pose.

    she’s singularly angular, positioned on a bar,
    her brother at her side,
    singing glad hallelujahs to the boys passing by.

    Everyone loves a stare, a glance, une regarde,
    but this gal wallows in it,
    lapping up the paparazzi shots, the mental
    undressing behind the pews.

    She loves it;
    she’s sick,
    or possibly stuck in a Truffaut film.
    he loves it,

    And we are so sick that we stare anyway,
    because we know he, she, they love it.


Poem: "Ochre Drawers"

you left your ochre drawers here last night
on the hall tree, free and sized perfectly to your body,
as if you were sitting there
crumpled with nothing to say.

so, as befits me,
I took them and brought them to my nostrils
for a moment and drew a breath.

the smell was you,

crushed magnolia in early summer,
ligustrum in spring


I placed them back, where i found them,
set your cigarette lighter
on top
so your drawers wouldn’t fly away,
a reminder to give them back to you,

to call you sometime about this little problem,
this memento of your presence that I am not too reluctant to discard, happy enough,
really, to have its presence linger here on the hall tree,
as if you were there in person,
to take in, to linger awhile,
an iced glass of a summer drink,
the name of which I have forgotten
despite my desire for it:

another sip, another shuffle of the blanket, clink of ice against glass,
red ochre drawers chewed
like a peeled mandarin orange,
would perhaps be sufficient,

wouldn’t it?