Thanksgiving Day

He stood at the corner of a busy street
clinging to a tattered cardboard sign
with the words, HUNGRY Please Help Me.

The coins clinked into
his cup sounding like his
mom’s silverware.

He remembered plates filled with
sweet yams, steaming turkey, and
mashed potatoes covered in gravy…

then Dad’s drunken angry words,
Mother’s broken antique china,
...running out of the house
slamming the front door...

Memories left a bitter taste
sour bile deep in his gut.

He scratched the scabes on his unwashed
head, his sinuses ached from the stench
wafting up through the sewer grate.

He wiped the corners of his mouth
longing for the sting of a needle
followed by the sweet silence
of slumber filling his veins.

Balanced Checkbook

there was a time the household budget
depended on a balanced checkbook
the rows of numbers had to be added

and subtracted throughout the weeks

to match the total on the monthly statements
a few pennies lost were permissible
but all the dollars had to be accounted for

because the paycheck only lasted
for thirty days, no wiggle room for mistakes,
no fudging, or forgetting expenses

today with electronic wizardry
an up-to-date balance can be had

with the swipe of a card and a secret pin number
current state of potential spending
is available with an itemized list of all

checks written, charges credited, or impulses debited

like an electrocardiogram
giving information on economic health
available for everyone to see in an instant.

The Right Words

I remember as a child, one of my tasks was to
clean the debris from the pinto beans,
quality control in the home, the last stop before
the boiling pot and dinner meal.

Writing poetry is much the same,
filtering each word, tossing out the ones
that crunch on the ear if left unedited.

Words; individual letters whose sounds
are combined to make meaning, several sounds
then linked together to create a cadence and
rhythm like a pounding drum,
arranged for the listener's pleasure

The sapphire sky reflected in the water
lapping gently on the sandy shore.

THE LATE NIGHT PHONE CALL

The phone woke me up from a deep sleep.
I tried to focus on the clock,
large red digits read; 3:00 A.M.
Who could be calling at this hour?

There’s my son, out in the desert
he’s got three kids and wife,
maybe it is one of them?

Or maybe my youngest son
who lives with his family
twenty minutes off the freeway.
They’re usually not out at night
could the kids be sick?
Is there an emergency?

What about my grand niece
could something have gone wrong?

I finally clear my head
enough to pick up the receiver
and say, “Hello,” in my gravely voice
I hear nothing but quiet sobbing.

Again I say, “Hello.”
This time clearer and louder
…nothing… and then a dial tone.
I look for caller ID
but no number listed
it's blocked, the caller unknown.
I try * 69 but the line is busy.

I dial the number for my oldest son
“Everybody’s fine. No worries.”

The younger one is okay too
but, why he wonders
did I called so early?

Finally the niece assures
me, the call didn’t come from her.

I guess it was a wrong number
but who was crying
at 3:00 this morning?

Long Term Relationship

We’ve known each other since we were young
just out of adolescence and married
first one child and then another
time filled with so many activities
in a little while the house was still
just you and me and the dog

We finish each other’s sentences
four hands to complete every task
we have a rhythm all our own
words are shared but don’t have to be
we frequently touch so naturally
and laughter a daily activity

We are connected undoubtedly
our breath synchronized, our heartbeats too
can’t imagine life without the other
can’t sleep at night if we are apart
whatever existed when we were young
can’t compare to when we're older.

Making Friends

I wander around the playground
looking for someone to be with
but no one wants to play with me.
I stand alone under the big shade tree.

I look up to the sky and what do I see?
A big fluffy cloud in the shape of a bear.
I imagine he’s smiling down at me.

Another girl with brown curly hair asks me,
“What are you doing, can I play too?”
I point up to the sky

and to my delight
we make up stories
about the shapes we see.



















There are families of rabbits
a horse, and a mouse
a dog being chased by a fire breathing dragon.

Recess goes quickly and we promise
to meet at the same spot after lunch
and again next week.

Cloud watching gives way to other games
we meet after school and clearly remain
friends for the rest of fifth grade.

Building Homes

He carried his hammer in a leather belt
a few nails protruded from his mouth,
he climbed the ladder and then
one by one he pounded the nails into the wall.
His rhythm, like a drummer in a rock band,
one, two, three and then on to the next.

By sunset the wooden frame looked like a house
all the outside walls defined
the smell of pine mixed with sweat.
The final nail driven and it was time to quit.

Tomorrow a helper was scheduled
to put up the drywall and door jams.

He told me he liked working with his hands
because when he finished
he could survey his work and come back
again and again to admire his finished product.